Recently, I encountered the term “cool girl”. I always knew that I was striving to achieve this particular status but never quite knew how to label it.
Thank you film industry – yet again, you have taught me an invaluable gem.
If any of you have read Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, or seen the movie, then you know.
A girl who is not a girlfriend. Shares interests with, hangs with, and (optionally) sleeps with a man she is interested in.
A mythological being, based on the concept that there are women out there that are not bloodsucking, money-grubbing whores.
I strongly disagree with both these definitions. What utter rubbish.
The Scarlett “true” definition will follow. You will love it, it’s fun and easy to implement. Do less, clean, cook and iron less, fuck, shop and drink more! (YAY!)
Ok, like you all, I have done many stupid things in the past to achieve illusive “cool girl” status (arguably all I managed to do was lower my own self-respect) which I am not, in hindsight, that proud of.
P.s. You can never judge me harder than I judge myself – so sticks and stones.
Limited the amount of food eaten in front of a man, also restricted food choice to “acceptable” items.
Then I realized there is nothing more attractive than a woman who eats a fat juicy steak in front of a man.
I have had boys sit opposite me at dinner mesmerized just watching me eat meat. Forget salad, I think eating meat reminds them of your willingness to, well, “eat meat” and clearly both in and out of restaurants this is a super fun activity.
(Unless of course his “Spunk tastes funky” – OMG favorite line and episode of all time, thank you Sex and the City for making me smile, oh so many times!)
Slept with ex-boyfriend’s best friend just to get back at shit head ex-boyfriend for cheating on me and breaking my heart.
Pretty much says it all, I can see you shaking your heads already.
It was never going to end well, was it?
Skip to the end – me sitting on a freezing street curb at 4.47 am in evening gown, feeling worthless, waiting for a taxi (at least looking like Audrey Hepburn in Dior).
Let us backtrack, so ex-BF, let’s call him Lucky Luke, had this best friend who had always flirted with me, let’s call him Bad in Bed Ben.
After the Lucky Luke cheating on me and breaking my heart aftermath I went to a glamorous party – as young ladies of breeding age do, where I bumped into Bad in Bed Ben.
Not knowing at the time he was bad, (wow and how bad), I needed some positive attention and from my inbuilt “man radar” I knew that he liked me A LOT.
So one thing led to another and we ended up in his share house. That is the point when it went wrong. Share house, evening gown and broken heart do not mix well.
Bad in Bed Ben was soft, I mean in every way possible. Clearly too much student pizza eating and poor genetics. At the time, I decided to go through with the plan but now I just wonder why… I have since blocked out the more unpleasant details.
After what was an incredibly disappointing roll in the hay and a waste of perfectly good clean sheets, I could not wait to get out of there.
I went upstairs to call a cab that took forever to arrive. At some point into the 45 minute wait, Bad in Bed came upstairs (stark naked full frontal nudity in all its glory (or not)) only to find me still in his house.
He was surprised to see me. I was surprised to see him.
It was not the good happy jumping out of a cake type of surprise. It was the awkward and uncomfortable type of surprise.
I think he thought I was some kind of insane stalker who enjoyed sitting around foreign share houses after less than mediocre sex. I could not deal with this level of awkward, so I took my cab vigil outside where I almost froze to death.
Lesson quickly learned. This was where the phrase “walk of shame” was invented.
Stay tuned for Part 2, where I will properly define the cool girl rules we are all going to live by, from now on and forever.
What’s your cool girl story? Dish it!