I’ve always been told I’m an old soul.  And someday my exterior will catch up with my interior.  It’s inevitable.  However, I think I’m an old man soul. So hopefully the catching up doesn’t go quite that far.

I have always felt more like a dude on the inside.  Not in a sexual way. Get your mind out of the garbage.  But sometimes I feel that I walk like a man, talk like a man.  Have the attitude of a man.  Anytime I’ve mentioned that to someone, they’ve assured me that I read pure dudette on the outside.

But I have proof.  Here’s just a few.

I had more male friends growing up.  To me, they were more fun to hang out with because they joked around and gave each other a hard time.  In that friendly banter kind of way.  I preferred hearing that over “Hi sweeeeetie, where did you get those shoes, they are like sooooo adorable, hey let’s paint each others toes!”  I’d puke in my mouth a little, grin and bear it and hope to witness some silly, girlie drama.

As a kid, I never understood the whole playing with dolls thing.  Why do we keep re-dressing them in new outfits and pretend their doing things that they’re not?  I didn’t get it.  But, I did love playing ‘kick the can’ at night with the older kids.

I hate shopping.

My favorite breakfast is what I call ‘the 80 year old farmer’s breakfast’.
Coffe, black.  Eggs, up.  Bacon, greasy.  Toast, well done.

And my inner 80 year old disgruntled man comes out if anyone rubs me the wrong way.  (Now, this is a long story, but old men like to tell ’em that way.)  I was at the bank depositing checks and the woman teller decided, after 10 years of banking, she would no longer allow me to cash checks made out to Kate Clarke.  Nope.  Only checks that said my legal birth name, Cathleen Clarke.  WHAT?  Kate IS Cathleen.  Kate is short for Cathleen.  So if my legal name was Jacob and someone made a check out to Jake – you wouldn’t let me cash it?

And this, she decides, after I’ve cashed checks for 10 years using both names. Apparently, she felt entitled to make this decision.

So I let her know what an idiot she was how disappointed I was and walked over to one of those suit types.  You know who I mean, the ones that sit in cubicles all day pretending to be busy.

My inner 80 year old man took over at this point, starting with “Your little blondie over there has her undies in a bunch. She’s trying to tell me after 60 years 10 years of cashing checks here, she doesn’t like the way it’s done any more.  So I need you to take care of this for me, sonny boy.”

One phone call to the legal department and a few clicks on his keyboard and I was back where I’d started.  Ha, little blondie, nice try on ruining my day.  As I left, I had to hold myself back from shouting “SUCK IT, BLONDIE!”