Frankly My Dear, There’s Not One Romantic Bone In My Body

Since Valentine’s Day is around the corner, I thought this post was long overdue.

A word of advice before I start with this:

I’m not the kind of girl who’s into hearts and flowers and all that mush.

(Ew. That made me sound like Christian Grey)

Anyway.

I’m not the kind of a girl who’s interested in getting cuddly-cuddly teddy bears. I’m not the kind of girl who’s interested in going to dates to a romantic restaurant like Madame Puddifoot’s. I’m definitely not the kind of girl who loves to advertise how much she loves her people.

Oh, and like my mother and my grandmother (that is, my mom’s mother), I hate getting hugged.

There are so many reasons I can give as to why it’s a very, very bad idea to romance me.

A.    If you buy me teddy bears, I’d give them to my one-year-old cousin:

Yep. It’s true. It’s not that I don’t like teddy bears. But I like my Pluto stuff-toy the best. He’s been my companion for the past sixteen years, gifted to me by my uncle.

My one-year-old cousin, on the other hand, ought to have a healthy appreciation for teddy bears. Trying to remove my Lego-Boy’s green cap is not good for her.

B.     Buy me books, instead.

I’m one of those girls in the train, who’ll stare longingly at your book’s cover, squinting her eyes and reading the summary just to kill her boredom and just to grasp what the plot’s really about. I’m one of those girls at the bookstore, who’s not ready to leave a bookstore even if an earthquake strikes.

So yes, if you want to buy me something, buy me books.

By books, I mean books like the Fountainhead or the Bell Jar. I don't mean books like Twilight or Fifty Shades Of Grey.

But if you do have the audacity to gift me those books –

It’s not that I won’t use those books.

Oh, I’ll use them, all right.

I’ll use them to hit you in the face.

C.    Don’t expect me to give you nicknames because if I do, it won’t be nice –

Yep. I’m the girl who’s named her own mother as Mother India and some of her own relatives as Useless Characters. Heck, I even named my ex-crush’s name as Leech.

And that was, like, three years ago.

Since then, my skills have grown a lot more.

D.    Don’t you dare to give me a nickname like coochie-coo, babe or my princess.

Because if you do, then I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you.  The only ones who get to give me a nickname are my best friends and my family.

If you do want to give me a nickname, give me a crazy one which makes me laugh.

E.     I am not the kind of girl who loves candlelight dinners.

This is because I tend to get paranoid about the fact that the wax might drip and fall onto my food and I’ll die after consuming.

Moreover, I’m someone who doesn’t really like too much of darkness. Darkness gives me the heebie-jeebies. I’m not even kidding you. I become so scared that some Carrie-like figure would creep behind me and scare the crap out of me (with all that gory pig-blood!).

So nope.

F.      I’m also not the kind of girl who’d skip her academics and family for a boy.

If there’s one thing I’m very conscious about, it’s my family, friends, studies and career. If you expect me to leave all of that to be with you, then you’re highly mistaken.

See, those things are very, very important to me, a lot more important than social status.

I am not even ashamed of saying this, you know. I’ll share my world with you but I will not get sucked into yours.

G.    I am not someone who dresses to please people. Much.

I wear good clothes but my prerequisite for those good clothes is that those clothes make me feel comfortable, not like an Oompa Loompa from Charlie And The Chocolate Factory.

I am happy wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, my silver owl earrings, my Queen Elizabeth pendant necklace (gifted to me by my best friend) and my sneakers, with no makeup on. I’m not going to take extra efforts to smear mascara over my eyes and wear crop tops and lurid neon pants.

H. I’m a feminist. So, if you make one comment about how much you’re a misogynist and a sexist, then I’m not going to take it lightly.

It has been a norm in our patriarchal society that a man is greater than a woman.

But mate, my great-grandmother raised four kids and tended to a lot of farms since her 20s. My grandmother raised two kids and adapted to an alien culture at a time when my country was not even properly developed. My mom started working since she was merely twenty-two and she hasn’t stopped even after marriage.

I share my genes with these women, mate. I’m not a girl who’s going to let her boyfriend have his way.

And, to a lot of masochistic guys, that’s a very unromantic trait.

But if having a boyfriend means acting like he’s God and I’m nothing, then I am going to stay a spinster for a long, long time.

And I have no issues with that. At all.

***                                                       

So, here ends my rant!

I have another Liebster Award pending along with a One Lovely Blog Award blogpost, which I’ll have to fulfil during my holidays! The questions are really fantastic. Really, really fantastic!

I hope you guys will have a kickass Valentine’s Day! It doesn’t matter if you’re single or taken. You’re awesome, no matter what happens.

(When I say no matter what happens, I don’t want you to go ahead and kill somebody!)

Much love,

Archie

P.S. I got an account on Bloglovin! :D 

Follow me, if you're there and get more updates!