“I can swear, I can joke
I say what’s on my mind
If I drink, if I smoke
I keep up with the guys
And you see me holding up my middle finger to the world
Fuck your ribbons and your pearls
‘Cause I’m not just a pretty girl”
Maggie Lindemann – Pretty Girl
My mother was raised in a strict Christian home by a single mom that was too proud to accept charity of any kind, thus she worked three jobs to keep the bills paid. Yet, somehow never missed church or disciplining her daughters by reminding them to carry themselves a certain way. Afterall, what would people think? My father was raised in a very abusive home and was often hidden away from the public by his single mom. She would lock him in the basement on weekends so that she could pretend she only had two children, whose father had died during WWII. (Mind you he died in prison, not the war, but she conveniently left that part of the story out.) My father’s dad had left when he was only 3yrs old to pursue his drinking and drug addictions. Eventually my father joined the U.S. Army, where once again, life was all about appearances.
Needless to say, my parents expected me to behave a certain way. They taught me how to converse with adults politely, then disappear, as children were meant to be seen, not heard. My parents finally divorced when I was in high school and my mother was so beside herself with grief that she quit imposing so many rules on me. That was when I began to develop my own style and discover the person I wanted to be. I didn’t want to cater to society’s norms. I wanted to in the exit door and leave through the entrance. I wanted to wear short skirts over leggings with ripped tee shirts and wild hair.
For years, my mother tried to make me a princess. She wanted to decorate my room with ruffles and canopy beds. I wanted my mattress on the floor with tons of pillows. She quickly became very much like her own mother and repeatedly said to me, “What will people think?”
I didn’t care what people thought! If they didn’t know me, how could they have a proper impression of me? Based on my clothes? The color of my skin? The color of my hair? My eyes? Eventually I discovered the 3F rule and I’ve pretty much lived my life that way ever since.
The 3F rule is simple: If you are not Feeding me, Financing me, or Fucking me….you get no say in how I live my life and your opinion means nothing to me. I was never going to be what my mother wanted me to be, nor did I want to. Yes, she was feeding me and financing me at the time, but she still needed to let me be me…or there would be a fight. There were many of those over the years until she realized she was never going to win. I was not going to be this super feminine little princess that sat around waiting for some prince charming, because I learned early on…you can never truly know another person. The only person you can truly know is yourself and that’s the person you should be true to.