Precarious pigeonholes (and abundant annoying alliterations)

Spring is officially over, as is (personally speaking) the predominant period of painstaking plots performed by particularly pernicious pollen. Strangely, I completely forgot to rant about the latter. To make up for that, I will tell you about an abiding abstract allergy of mine: stereotyped thinking.
I’ve been lucky to have been surrounded by people who make others feel like they’re three-dimensional human and feathery beings most of my life. I suppose that is why few things infuriate me more than harmful stereotypes that result in their victims’ lives becoming profoundly more difficult. I consider that reasonable resentment (though the extent of my exasperation, particularly pertaining to physical presumptions, could be called excessive). However, sometimes, a subtle hint that I might have been pigeonholed is all I need to feel personally attacked. I instantly imagine myself as a non-player character in a video game, clad in standard villager attire, invariably repeating a general warning about the dragon in the cave. The protagonist doesn’t care to find out that my bonnet hides a bald patch from the night the dragon scorched my shed in a destructive drunken drive. Or that the friendly neighborhood pigeon now lets me sleep on the sofa in its “bachelor’s den” (an embellished pigeonhole). All this is to say that, occasionally, my aversion to being pigeonholed (sans supportively supplied sofas), even with a well-intentioned implication innocently based on average assumptions, leads to the vehement wish to rebel. That’s why, a few years ago, when chatting about exercise (a topic I was extremely knowledgeable about, regularly regarding resolute runners), it irked me when my housemate recommended I do yoga because “that’s a kind of exercise women like to do, isn’t it?”. I had been critical of what I (foolishly) considered “slow exercise” before that. But now, I was adamant about avoiding yoga. The duck thinks it’s hilarious how much it bugs me when someone suggests something I suppose is based on a stereotype. The duck might be right. Fortunately, my friends tend to have an immaculate taste, so I’ve hardly ever received a friend recommendation I didn’t absolutely adore. Some have even offered up their sofa/[ch(air)] bed/camping mat/bathtub whenever I (spontaneously) needed a place to stay!

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P.S.: The duck asked me to include the following statement: “Pigeonholes are great! These so-called ‘bird hostels’ offer affordable accommodation for anyone (small enough) traveling on a budget”.