On Meeting A Female Geek
There are many people who are geeks.
There are far fewer who admit to it.
I am one of the rarer kind. I am a geek. I am also a female. And I’ll shout it from the rooftops. Without shame, and with no care for any censure that may come my way because of it.
I am told that this makes me somewhat of an oddity.
The fact that I considered, a couple of months back, my thirty-ninth birthday to be one of the best ever, purely due to the fact that my presents were two lightsabers? What, in the name of all that is Forcey, is wrong with that?
Science Fiction.
And if one of my favourite battles (if you can, indeed, have such a thing) is the battle of Stamford Bridge, I will not apologise for it. Who was that big Norse feller, holding that bridge? Seriously, what was his name? Did he even exist?
History.
Not to mention the fact that I can see myself in 1996, sitting on a balcony with a narrow view of the tellybox screen, a cushion pressed to my lower face, as I watched a young Mr Southgate start to make that walk. Yes, that one. It still bloody hurts.
Sport.
Yep, I’m a girl. But if you ever meet me, do not expect me to talk to you about shoes.
I might mention the Fox Network’s hideously early cancellation of ‘Firefly’, in very bitter tones. I could discuss the distress caused to Cleopatra, by the burning of the ancient library of Alexandria. I’ll probably mention Charlton Athletic (a lot), and describe Emile Heskey as a man with the turning circle of a battleship.
Should this come to pass, please let it go. Unless I do it in Klingon.
Then, you have my permission to be totally freaked out by a female geek.
Because my accent is awful.
