I love being a woman. And to that end, I really do enjoy a great deal of the stereotypical female things. I enjoy smelling nice, shaving often, painting my nails to match various outfits and having new arrays of outfits to choose from. I like it very much when doors are held open for me. I enjoy toying with my femininity, most often in the form of playing, "How long will you entertain this mundane conversation?" (if you were wondering, the answer, for most guys and men alike is WAAAY TOO LONG!) I once had a ten minute conversation at a bar with some random brosham about whether or not I should cut my hair. He was really into it, which I found dually ridiculous and enthralling. But I digress.
Although I quite enjoy being female... and feminine, I could do without the whole bag of riddles that comes along with our carrying the brunt of the reproductive duty; namely, pain, discomfort and attitudes that have been placed upon me ala Atlas (guy bent over with weight of World on his back.) And yet, it is a mixed bag, of sorts, for if I weren't currently experiencing the aforementioned lameness then I would be stricken in another, more lifelong fashion. That is to say, I would be pregnant.
I guess that means I, and all women, are kind of damned if we do and damned if we don't. But, on the upside, I will b painting my nails a brillant shade of purple. Why? Because I am woman, and I can...
And truly, the good faaaaar outweighs the bad, especially when I think of the hairy, farting, belching alternative.
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