Don’t call me a girl I am a woman.
I was a girl who grew up in Scotland and hung out with my two sisters. A skilled seamstress my mother dressed us in identical dresses. I was expected to be a nice girl that meant sweet, do as I was told, be a virgin until a married a good Christian boy. My sisters and I took delight in judging others, who could never come up to our high expectations of skinny bodies in matching outfits and shoes.
As a girl I rebelled and took off to India. In Kashmir I left my girlhood behind. There the males touched me as a western woman in objectionable ways. When I walked down the street if I was touched I thumped him or another male.
When my Mother came to visit she was upset by my displays of anger. I never discussed my woman hood with her nor, what being a woman meant to her.
Now I am a wise woman –opps that almost slid off the page. I am passionate about being called a woman not a girl. I have two grown children, a long term husband and a career. I have earned my womanhood - definitely a wise woman.