Yesterday at the gym there was a news segment on TV discussing a survey that found men say it’s harder to be a man today than it was in the 50’s. Blurred gender roles were decided (by a man, I’m sure) to be the culprit. Wah. Wah.
Try being a female.
Not gonna lie, some days I LOVE being a girl. The female body is incredible. It’s beautiful and powerful. The only way a man can be created is from a woman’s body.
So, who’s the weaker sex now?
On the other hand, there are some days I loathe my female form. It can be restrictive and unpredictable. After thirty-something years with the same body moments exist when I still can’t seem to understand it.
Bleeding profusely for four straight days, emotional outbursts for seemingly no reason, my boobs getting in my way when I try to put my arms by my side … ugh.
I realize I can’t have it both ways (that’s what she said). Gotta take the good with the bad.
It’s been said (often by my husband) that women are a contradiction.
And with the following list, I’m aboutta prove it.
Sometimes I feel like showin off my cray-cray. And I know that if I ever do, I can always blame it on my “time of the month”.
Me: “Judge, I’m really sorry I punched that stupid person in the baby maker for cutting me off in the checkout lane in Target. I had PMS that day.”
Judge: “OH! Well, in that case I find you not guilty by reason of insanity. You may go.”
But I also know that there could come a day I’m walking through the gym likka boss to get to the locker room, (which is always in the back of the gym), finally make it to the locker room, take off my light-colored pants to put on my workout clothes only to realize my tampon has failed me. And I can again blame my “time of the month”. Only this time, not in a good way.
I’m short. I am fully aware of my height (or lack thereof) but for some reason people seem to want to remind me of it. “Wow! You’re short!” Oh! Thank you! I had no idea! It’s not like I have a piece of food on my face that I’m unaware of.
But it’s much better to be short and a girl than short and a guy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say, “Oh, I can’t date her. She’s shorter than me.” However, I’ve heard plenty of women (especially tall women) who are very selective about the height of the men they date. Female advantage is on my side in this situation.
HOWEVER! In my kitchen, the tall cabinets are where, I’m convinced, my husband hides things he knows I’ll never find. (Maybe a very expensive brand of protein powder or chocolate he doesn’t want to share). If all of my “everyday” plates (you know, the ones Ikea sells for $.50 apiece) are in the dishwasher and I have to get the special “Made in Italy” plates, I’m in trouble. Actually, I’ll hand wash the dirty plates to keep from having to climb on the counter.
No, that’s not true. I’m a climber if it means I don’t have to hand wash. Although, I know that one day my husband will find me wandering around with a concussion from the fall.
I love wearing makeup and lookin pretty. I love that I can wear dresses, bikinis, stilettos, crop tops, daisy dukes, and anything lace. Being a girl is great for that.
If I’m having a bad skin day, I can apply some makeup to that biatch of a zit and it’s like it was never there.
Unless I’m having one of those days where my son wants me to hold him until his 40th birthday, my dog shats in the floor six times AFTER I’VE TAKEN HER OUT (you know, just because), my daughter decides at THAT MOMENT she needs to show me all of the art work she’s created for the past seven years, and it’s time to leave so we can make it to karate on time but I realize I haven’t peed all morning. Those are the mornings the “Lookin Pretty” advantage goes to the Y chromosome.
Although, I swear, my hubs could roll out of bed, put on a tux and look better than me if I spent 4 hours getting all dolled up.
As a woman, my body can do this amazing, miraculous thing where it GROWS A HUMAN! This is fascinating. Knowing that you are carrying around a little person is an indescribable experience. It made me want to wear a sign that said, “I’M A WOMAN AND I GROW PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
And then the little human is ripped from your body like a horror scene from the movie Alien. You’re left with a stretched out, tired, abused body that now has to feed and care for a little boss who doesn’t give a rats arse that you haven’t slept in a month or that you keep peeing on yourself because your bladder is still in shock. Advantage to the man.
Until it’s quiet and everyone’s asleep and it’s just you holding your beautiful, sleeping little alien. Definite momvantage.
See? Pros and cons. Ammirite?