Being a woman sucks.
Sometimes I think about how awesome it would be to be a dude. I could leave hair where hair grows, I could use a body wash that is also a shampoo, I could have U.U.S.S. and not have a care in the world. I could eat as much as I want and keep everything I need in a wallet instead of an enormous hobo bag that gives me back problems. I could put my car in the garage without calling a mechanic in the family just to make sure I’m not getting ripped off. And (my favorite) I would never, ever worry about what to wear.
Not to mention, I wouldn’t have to deal with the once-a-month junk. I wouldn’t even have to think about it. In no way would it affect my daily life and I could use the money I save on ibuprofen, pads, and tampons to start my own small business.
Then again if I were a dude, I don’t think I could deal with women. I’m really not a fan of them and I can’t imagine having to put up with one for life. If you’d like to know more, you can check it out here, in a blog post written long, long ago in a part of my brain far, far away (disclaimer: back then I was…”more free” with my word choice).
Sometimes I make Dave dinner or give him a foot massage just because I can’t fathom how he puts up with me. Because as much as I may harbor dude-like tendencies, I am undeniably woman in my aggressive and unpredictable mood swings, my ability to take stress from one category of my life and allow it to bring down the wrath of Hades in another completely unrelated category, and in my inability to stop myself from cooing and giggling at puppies.
In my defense, there is a startling amount of adorable puppies in my neighborhood.
I must also admit that I am deeply disturbed by the idea of owning a penis. Truly, deeply disturbed. And I don’t mean because I was born as a woman and would find the sex change unnerving (which I would), but rather that I have no idea what men do with them, where they put them in their day-to-day tasks, and how they manage to not squish them. I can only imagine the complete sense of imbalance I would have for the entire day once I’ve made my choice to dress to the left or the right. That seems like a long-term decision to me and the pressure of commitment each morning would be too much for me to bear.
Also, Dave once said penises are “like a tail but in the front.” and I will forever carry that deeply disturbing thought with the image of my conversion to dude-ism.
So yesterday’s time was wisely invested in the art of couch-sitting. I call it my “Jabba the Hut” look. Because it was one of those beautiful times in a woman’s life where no amount of preventative maintenance for either my body or my mind could stop me from being a gigantic, painstricken, cranky, leaky mess. Luckily, the laptop offered a sort of radiating warmth and helped ease the pain of womanhood pulsating through my lower abdomen. And when I tired of the Interwebz, I replaced its warmth with that of a cat. Because it’s one of their many uses and a great way to pay me back for all their freeloafing.
So much for my awesome times in my awesome fort while Dave is away. Blasted ovaries. ♣
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