From resisting the face-scrunching temptation of sneaking a ball or two of golden marzipan whilst decorating a gloriously rich fruit cake which reeks of knock-you-out brandy to figuring out how you could possibly disguise an irritating ladder on your black-as-night tights being noticed, my life as a girl and eventually a young woman hasn't been as easy as it may seem for the other gender - car-honking, Doritos-stealing (at least that it is the case with my finger-dipping brother, whose breath smells of sickly sour cream and chives) and football-dedicating boys. Unfortunately, I've already reached a stage where gut-wrenching realization has opened my pencil-coated eyes to the world surrounding my navy coated form: whether it's about getting my hands dirty by peeling the squishy skin on a salty sausage to produce a homemade batch of tasty sausage rolls or even daring to pop the question regarding a ten minute search on the internet during the crucial, un-televised football match, destiny typically seems to have written a girl's future in the eye-catchingly twinkling stars, which I'm sadly unable to see on a regular basis due to the pollution and satsuma-bright streetlights clouding the sky from a crystal clear view.
What I'm trying to explain in fascinating terms (if my adventurous usage of the Oxford Dictionary has been worth it like a L'Oreal skin care advert) is that while boys needn't worry about taking care of their skin or give a slightest hint of attention as to the best method of putting on the beloved decorations onto the Christmas Tree in a coordinated order, the world definitely wouldn't function as efficiently - or perhaps not all, if a frazzled tracksuit-clad mother somehow 'forgot' to place the family's ready meal of solid frozen fish fingers into the oven during the so-called 'captivating' final of The X Factor, leading to a historic meltdown for all those affected - if girls and women didn't have a burden to bear by carrying on in the manner of admirable soldiers when the going got tough and their shoulders heaved with the unbearable weight of carrying everybody else's problems like a sweat-inducing bag of jacket potatoes. Who cares whether the term 'feminist' comes to mind if one wishes to describe me - in fact, I don't shy away from being given a title which symbolizes equality for a gender whose caring and fiery nature is not a force to be reckoned with, nor ought to be ignored purely on the basis that my naturally medium-length hair isn't shaved to an inch of its life and my voice doesn't growl or sound gruff, my femininity being proudly displayed in every step I take and discouraged from hiding in a darkened corner.
Until now, I suppose that I've never particularly given much thought or time towards the razor-hot subject, which burns more ferociously than many other matters relevant to our world in this modern day and age, especially due to my young age, which has a rather irritating tendency to be overlooked by all those high and above my kitten-heeled frame - an esteem-lowering problem which has the strongly deserved right to be banished from our world for once and for all. Perhaps commonly described stereotypes had weaved their inexcusable messages brimming with nonsense into my head a little bit: unless you are a member of feminist society Femen, where the majority of its members have the bravery to bare their torsos in horribly freezing temperatures to make the headlines on page 20 in a national newspaper, feminists are often portrayed as man-hating, out-of-control creatures with a fierce temper to match their beliefs or are so believed by many people, including fellow women who are given an immensely false impression of others of their own gender.
OK, I'm not a brunette version of a kick-ass female vampire slayer or jaw-dropping beautiful video game character with a noticeable penchant for heavily padded bras (obviously, my Xbox-loving brother would know all about that one), but I think that it's alright to stand up for my beliefs and obvious rights as a female because none of it ought to inflict any harm upon somebody - what could be deemed as so humanely wrong to yearn for respect and receive in the nicest form possible? According to my decade-old Law book, The Sex Discrimination Act 1975 promotes the values that a woman deserves to be treated as equally as one would with a man, yet countless articles report that these rules are failing to be complied with, despite the act becoming law almost forty years ago. So, what with the law being on our sides and stating the obvious facts that discrimination of any kind is a defence, is there anything else that can be done to prevent being shoved into a corner and stopped from our voices being heard?
It saddens me that it may be very true that a certain stigma towards my gender - and obvious lack of abilities in relation to kicking a muddy ball on a soaked-through football pitch and domineering form of a tall, lanky male as to my average, curvier figure - could continue to exist for years and potentially generations to come, regardless of rules being legalized and put into place for nearly four decades. Although luck has successfully stayed on the right side of myself by avoiding any comments, jeers or feelings of discrimination from anybody, fear somewhat strikes a chord inside the pit of my stomach that another girl or woman could be experiencing what would make any person of the female species to gasp with horror - why should we bear the blow of being struck with oh-so-cruel words, which turn our hearts to bulletproof glass and destroys binding faith in whom we believed that we could trust? It's an on-going battle which could take place from an over-stacked aisle at a supermarket more jam-packed than a John Lewis Bear & Hare display to a conversation with a person at school or work; and what are we supposed to do when our guards are down and all of our weapons and barriers are left elsewhere, feeling utterly defenceless by the overwhelming power of knife-slicing words?
Along with dreams of pursuing a successful career as either a journalist or a barrister and an unlikely fantasy of purchasing a bottle of Coco Mademoiselle for less than a quarter of a year's worth of strongly valued pocket money, my wish is for discrimination for all people - accepting their gender, lifestyle choice and whom they want to be - to disappear within a wave of a magical wand, preferably one without silver tinsel and messy glitter which somehow finds its way into my kittens' soft tabby fur coat. As long as they live a respectable lifestyle and respect the law and other people, I don't see why making offensive comments and upsetting others purely because of their assigned gender at birth ought to become a part of everyday life. Sure, dewy-skinned youth may play a special role in regard to my opinions - until I become an official taxpayer at the age of eighteen, squeezing a yellow-headed spot is the worst of my worries - but it doesn't suggest that I cannot form a view about a problem which could one day affect myself or somebody I know. Feminism should be celebrated with a light to keeping a clear head when the tricky topic of genderism pops up on either the news or a seemingly 'outspoken' public figure. Don't hush your voice to a whisper if you have something to say about your gender - it is about time that difficulties and perils about being female are destroyed forever, whether you wish to face your fears or not!
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