When I was eight, a friend from school invited me to a Halloween party. I was psyched. Brazil is known for Carnival, football and women, but definitely NOT Halloween parties, which is stupid if you ask me. Halloween is like Carnival with candy. I mean, seriously, Brazil, get a grip.

Anyway, I was running around and screaming like a crazy person, because the girl was quite popular and I was a total nerd. Please keep in mind those were the old days, when being a nerd was equal to having leprosy. 

Then I started freaking out. What costume should I choose?

Now, I was a really weird kid.

You know how most girls played with Barbies and My Little Ponies? I had Mutant Ninja Turtles’ action figures (Leonardo and Michelangelo actually), and I kindda had a crush on Leonardo. That’s how weird I was: I bordered awkwardness.

On a side note, I think my childhood must have been a super fun experience for my Mom. But let’s skip puberty, what do you say?

Okay, we both know I will address puberty at some point, but please nod and keep reading for the time being.

Anyway. While I dreamed of defending Gotham city from the scum that infested it, other girls prepared for motherhood with dolls that pooped and peed, which is so insane that I can’t even. I mean, how screwed-up is that? At some point in time, some dumb-ass sitting in a high chair thought that, “Girls need to be prepared for their one and only role in our society: being mothers. And mothers looooooove cleaning poop, right? Of course they do.”

You, sir, are an asshole.

But I digress.

So, I told Mom what I wanted for a costume.

“What about Poison Ivy?” she said. “You could go as Poison Ivy.”

I shook my head, arms crossed.

“Okay, I know: Batgirl. She’s so pretty, sweetheart.”

Head shake again.

“How about Catwoman? She’s powerful and strong.”

“Moooom,” I whined.

Mom breathed out in exasperation. “Fine.”


That night, the popular girl’s Mom heard the doorbell ring. When she opened the door, she came across a figure.

A symbol. A myth.

“Oh, and what are you supposed to be, dear?” she asked, bending over her knees.

I spread my bat wings wide and said in a low voice, “Lady, I’m your worst nightmare.”

I never returned to that house again. It might have been the fact that I propped myself on a table in the corner, and watched everyone from the shadows for the rest of the night.


26 thoughts on “MEMORIES OF A TOMBOY

  1. Oh my goodness for my sixth and seventh birthday I had Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles birthday parties until my mom finally cut me off. I had a HUGE crush on Michelangelo. I wanted to chill, party, and eat pizza with him all day while fighting crime. I had real aspirations.

  2. Best Christmas present ever was a Leonardo action figure (he and Raphael alternated as my favourites) but think mum just grabbed a handful for me and my brothers. Our dad made us a sewer/street play area for them. He used old camera film cases (black cylindrical things) as bins for turtles to stand in for the lift that went from sewer to street. It was so cool!

  3. Pingback: Feminist Ninja Badass or (I’m a Feminist and I Love Men) | POMAD

  4. Pingback: Being Two Different People | PRINCESS KICK-ASS

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