My gushy, girly centre.

I'm not what you'd call feminine.

I never have been.

I've been blessed with the bone structure and the muscles of a gorilla (well, a short armed gorilla anyway). I can even do leg squats with my large husband on my back.

I do not have delicate feminine features.

Throughout most of my life I've had very short hair because of it's unruly nature.

I do not have a delicate female laugh, in fact, I've been known to snort if you get me laughing hard enough.

I sweat when I'm hot. And I'm not talking about a girly glow, I'm talking full on streams of sweat running down my face.

I have the grace of a bull in a china shop, especially when I'm nervous, which coincidently is most of the time.

I make jewelry but rarely wear it. To put jewelry on me often makes me feel like I'm draping a cow with finery.

And to top it off, I'm not given to mushiness or public displays of affection.

As a result, I often lament the fact that I don't feel feminine. I sometimes wish I could experience what it is like to be the slight, delicate female who can be picked up and manhandled by a strong masculine man.

But there are times when my girly, gushy centre swells and bursts forth in all it's femininity. There's just something about the works of Jane Austen that will make even the "butchest" of women quiver inside.

This morning I watched Pride and Prejudice and am left with the inescapable need to let slip a girly sigh. When Mr. Darcy tells Miss Elizabeth that she has, "bewitched him body and soul", I find myself clutching at my throat and holding my breath. I love it. I can't get enough of it.

Escaping into this world is the only time I feel like a woman.

*girly sigh*