Some people (most of us, I suppose), are what we do. So City types are – yanno – City types. And teachers tend to be a bit teachery. And hippies are … well, they bear a startling resemblance to hippies, generally. But I’ve never known what I was. I’m a woman who has worked in a male-dominated field for 20 years. I’m a geek, but I garden and paint and write reasonably well. I’m kind of a hippie in that I’m soft, but I like hunting. I’m shy but a monster. I’m a feminist who loves men. What the fuck am I?
Well, this evening I have been correctly identified, and I must say it feels marvellous! At last I understand where I fit in the world! I have a shorthand term I can use which will enable other people to instantly understand what I am. In fact I’d go as far as to say that this is the first time I have ever felt there is a niche I can fit into.
I am a “garretty artist type.” THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE.
This identification was delivered to me (over sashimi, mmmm), on the basis of my being a paintery, writery person who hangs out in proper old kimonos and wears big rings and sticks stupid stuff in their hair. I’m volatile and apt to fly off the handle quickly and colourfully, or be utterly heartbroken suddenly, which is apparently a requirement. I’m a bit not-quite-connected-to-the-world, which is part of it. I fall profoundly in love instantly. But most of all, more than anything else, allegedly, this identity is based on the fact that I once got so angry with my ex-husband that I threw a whole Camembert at him so hard it stuck. And the fact that I only got so angry with him because I loved him.
This is the identifier.
There is a place for me in the world. And it is based on furious cheese-throwing.
 Both he and I cracked up at this point, and that was the end of that argument.