I've just taken my feet out of a pair of impossibly high heels, I've got glittery pink nail varnish on and I have just finished my latest chicklit novel (Miranda Dickinson's 'When I Fall in Love'- I'd give it 6.5/10, nothing spectacular), but I would never describe myself as a 'girly girl'.
...Because I'm now sat with a beer, wearing boys boxers and watching Top Gear (there's something oddly attractive about Clarkson's cocky bastard sneer and pot belly. I'll never understand what, but that's us women for you...), being as blokey as a twenty-two year old woman can possibly be and I'm getting more and more infuriated by the fact that last week I was called a bimbo.
'Wow', she says, 'You've changed so much. You used to be a real bimbo!'
Ok, I absolutely love a good flirt, I used to be blonde and I was always pretty crap at maths, but one low cut top does not a bimbo make.
Why is it that in 2013 we can judge someone with such ferocity in so little time? I've got 10 GCSE's and 4 A-Levels, have worked in three different professions during my time out of education and I'm in the process of applying to some of the UK's top universities, but having blonde hair and a love of high heels apparently meant that I was an bimbo, to a person I've met only a handful of times?
Now, this girl is a few years younger than I am, I haven't seen her since Christ only knows when and I don't even know her second name. I suppose it just goes to show that first impressions really do stick, and people who you don't even know have been making judgements since they first laid eyes on you.
