Oh, I am so tired of making excuses!

When I’m thin, I “must take care that I don’t become anorexic”. When I start gaining weight, I’m warned that my “dad’s family tends to be overweight” so I should be careful.

I worked as a manager in telecommunications business and my boyfriend was angry because I was “too concentrated on your career”.

I go to university in my trainers and I’m warned that I should take care “not to become one of those intellectuals who don’t wear make up and only own black clothes.”

Then I hear Alice Schwarzer say “you cannot fight for women’s rights and look girly”. So when I put my beloved dress on I’m scared I look “too much like a doll”.

When I read The Economist and Die Zeit and Spiegel, they say I’m boring. But then I have to feel guilty when once in a while I fetch Gala or Elle.

I have to think about how many men I had sex with. If that number is OK or not. Who cares?

I date a young man and they say “but he’s too young”. When he is muscular, he’s “primitive”. A business man has “not so much in common”. When he is an artist, then he “cannot give me any security”. And then the same people ask me why I’m alone!

When I wear make up, they wonder what I’m hiding. When I war none, they wonder why I don’t take care of myself.

When I show my intelligence I hear that “men don’t like clever women”. When I enjoy shopping with girls they say I “behave like a bimbo”.

When I feel great I hear “you scare men off”. When I feel shit it’s “but men like happy women”.

When I say I practice tai-chi sword, they say “oh you’re the kind of a woman that could kill a man.” When I say I also dance ballet, they ask me if I can do the split. Oh, please!

When I say I want to find the right man and marry him and have kids, they blame me for “clichés”. Because I didn’t yet find the right man and marry and have kids, they wonder “what’s wrong” with me.

When I say I don’t like going to clubs anymore, they say “oh, you got old”. When I had my fringe cut, I was blamed to “look too young”.

They say my breasts are too small, and then they bitch against plastic surgery. They show me porn with all those balloons and wonder why I feel bad because I have none.

When I offer to pay, I feel like a feminist. When I don’t, I feel like a whore.

I was asked in awe “why the hell do you want to do a PhD”? Why not – my both grandfathers had one?

I only see pictures of women with perfect bodies and then they say “but we like women who feel comfortable in their skin.”

When I get excited about politics, they look at me in surprise. Just as they do when I discuss Barangelina’s upcoming divorce.

And now, I have to feel bad about having written all of this. Someone might get something wrong. I’m so sorry.