Country Cowgirl

The lady takes a mothering tone when she teases me for being a country girl because my nails are always dirty. "It’s because I’m constantly cleaning and planting!" I cry in defense.

The trendy gay man teases me for being defeminate because I don’t wear sparkly things. "But I only wear dresses!" I cry. "Plus, everything gets ruined when you spend so much time with red earth."

The friend tells me I’m a cowgirl because I’ve all but given up on make-up. "It’s too hot," I explain, tired of the teasing.

But today, as we returned to the Land from an afternoon out, I called the bike to a screeching halt and hopped off the back. There was a family of cows grazing, eating the flowers like they were exquisite desserts plated just for them. I grabbed a stick, started screaming in Tamil, and chased the beasts to the hole in the fence--while Vasantha and the Old Man looked on in laughter.

And it dawned on me that my friends may be right, and I deserve the teasing.