The first was while out walking past a trio of roading contractors with the southerly blowing their observations toward me, unbeknownst to them. One of the three demurred at the prospect of my physicality; I don't do battle gingas (the hard g version- rhymes with ringer) he declared, while his two companions were more enthusiastic- yeah I would and from the front and back respectively. As almost every woman knows, the joy and relief I experienced at even this partial unsolicited affirmation from a group of repellent strangers is obviously more than I can convey and yes, melts my tenuous feminist façade and somehow completes me. While I am currently sporting red hair and probably do look like I could rip your arms and legs off, battle ginga is definitely something new. I shall treasure it alongside the historic fucking goth slut and the eternal nice tits bitch.
On an anthropological note, the extent to which older pointless shitbags were utilising a contemporary derogatory vocab was somewhat surprising. Oh internet porn, what can't you do?
Two days later a woman at my partner's workplace informed him that she had seen a very elegant young lady and thought I was probably looking for him. At 41 in 10-up Docs, roadkill scarf and Day-4 hair, that's not really something you expect to hear, and I must say it was also a first.
A very elegant young lady.
Very battle elegant ginga (hard gs).
Everything is everything.