They are going to take away my license; don't worry, not my driver's license  or my food handler's permit, but my license to be a girl. It's going to be confiscated by some perfect looking blonde, with matching shoes, belt, and purse, who looks and acts perfectly and is familiar with all of the topics we girls are supposed to be experts on. These topics include but are not limited to: the best place to get a Brazilian bikini wax, Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, American Idol, Tyra Banks, and of course, the pros and cons of designer items vs. cheap knock-offs.  She will probably go to several gyms and be the most flexible person in her Hot Yoga class, which meets every day at noon. She will look slightly like Reese WItherspoon in "Legally Blonde" (a great movie in my opinion), but will not see any irony at all in emulating Elle.

This is written in the cards.

It all started last summer at a party. Usually, at parties, I hang out with everybody, talking, laughing and getting more than slightly festive (my little euphemism for "buzzed" because it sounds so much more delicate) and have a great time, but at this party,  I made the mistake of hanging out in the kitchen with the "girls", the "girly girls" to be exact. I was way out my league conversation-wise and felt like I had just landed from Mars. (This is exactly why I wonder why if women are from Mars and men are from Venus, why oh why can't I speak the same language as my fellow "alien race"?)

A girl I knew slightly started in on her closet. "I've got a a closet full of Fendi bags-probably enough a down-payment on a house."

WTF?

OK, I have a vague knowledge of what a Fendi bag is (though I couldn't identify one in the streets for the life of me), but why oh why would someone spend so much money on not just one but many, many of the same bags? If a "horse is a horse, of course, of course", shouldn't is also follow (by reason of almost rhyming) that a "purse is a purse, of course, of course.)

The other girls chimed in with shoe talk, probably the one of the most boring topics of conversation I've ever encountered. I mean, seriously, it's nice to see nice shoes, but is it really nice to talk about nice shoes at a party? At least, that's what I was thinking until the conversation took a turn for the worse. We were all discussing the even-more exciting topic of closet organizers. I thought I was absolutely going to die on the spot. To make matters worse, one of the girly-girls saw me accidentally pick up a small salmon appetizer thingy with my bare fingers, a big no-no at these kinds of parties and shot me a dirty look. I quickly retreated to the safety of boys to talk about politics and sports.

The summer continued in the same vein and I felt terrible. I attended an engagement party where everybody had not only to dress up, but also had to stand around watching the future bride and groom open up every gift. How is it possible to ooh and ah about a kitchen towel is something that escapes me to this day.

All around me people were getting pregnant, but I managed to avoid the baby showers by conveniently being out of the country. I like babies, but talking about babies and baby items is definitely not my idea of a good time.

Not only can I not "talk the talk", I also fail to "walk the walk". My hair is never perfect, when I put on make-up it is not always even, and I don't have the money to spend on designer clothes. I just don't look the part of a modern-day girl and I certainly don't understand the language. Perhaps there is a crash-course I can take to be admitted into formally into the "Sisterhood"?

As it stands now, I don't have what it takes to be a girl. When the blonde girl comes to take my "Girl License" away, my only hope is that she brings her Fendi bag so that I can see one up close and personal for the first time.