Being a girl is fabulous! Men can't appreciate shoes and fashion the way we do (well, I suppose some can). Men can't be pregnant - which, for me, was awesome - I absolutely loved being pregnant. Men can't give birth - which again was pretty awesome (thank you to whoever invented the epidural - otherwise it might have been hell on wheels!).
But . . . some things about being a girl truly, truly suck.
Okay, Blasé being my only male friend in the blogosphere you may want to stop reading here.
I'm truly tired of PMS and that time of the month. Really. And the older I get, the worse it seems to become. At this point I'm thinking COME ON menopause or surgery. And it really irks me that the guys don't have to "deal" with anything of this sort. So, not fair.
I'm extremely tired of shaving my legs and underarms and dealing with the whole bikini area. Honestly? And if you don't deal with it then you look like some kind of crazy, hairy monster. Again, so not fair - men only have to do their face. Most women deal with at least three major areas; some even more. So if somebody feels the need to give me laser hair removal - I. Am. There!! If I have to suffer from any more cuts and nicks, so help me . . . .
And can anyone tell me why being the woman in the house equates to toilet cleaning? Laundry? Or being the only one who has the ability to "find" things? How the hell should I know where you left your pager, your keys, your id card, your socks, your shoes, or the mortgage papers? I didn't leave them wherever you left them because you are so disorganized that you can't designate a "home" for said items?
Hair? Really? I'm tired of spending so much time and money on it. I look at hubby. He washes and combs it. That's it! Me? I have to wash, condition, special treat once in a while, have it cut, colored, dry and style it. If I don't do all of the above then again I look like some kind of crazy, hairy monster.
I love me some handbags - but why does that mean I have become the "keeper of all things?" When Man-Child was small it started out with "Here mommy, hold my rocks." (He loved rocks - don't ask me why - they were everywhere!!) It has now morphed into "Here hold my keys, my wallet, my pocket knife, my id card, my phone, my whatever." I am NOT your personal "holder."
I have also become the designated shopper. Yes, I love to shop. But really? It's your mother, sister, brother, niece, nephew, friend, etc. How the hell should I know what will rock their boat??
Why does being a girl mean that I am the filler-outer of all forms, the disciplinarian, the inviter, the one who makes the obligatory phone calls, etc?
::Whew:: Glad I got that off my chest. Thank you for letting me vent. I can now go back to enjoying being a girl!