The Trouble With Women

In my last post, I found power by talking tough in some of my favorite male accents. I could have opted for strong female voices like Demi Moore or Kathleen Turner, but I really just don't like women.

My mother tells me I preferred the company of men from the second I was born. My earliest playmates were almost exclusively male. My closest high school friend was female, but the majority of my friends were boys. As an adult, the ratio of male friends to female friends is probably 5 to 1.

This doesn't mean I'm macho or anything. I'm "one of the guys," but still plenty girly. I own at least a million handbags, I wear a tiara in the bathtub, my cell phone is pink, I sleep with teddy bears and my fingernails have sparkly flowers on them at this very moment. I don't mind femininity; I just can't stand most of the fems involved in it.

Women are mean. They carry on vendettas FOREVER. The girl who hated you in seventh grade still does. Men may fight, and it may even come down to fisticuffs, but when it's over, it's over. Seldom will men engage in a long-running spitefest, unless it's in an internet sports forum.

Women feel a constant need to compete with each other. This isn't the way men compete either. When men compete, they force themselves and each other to excel. When women compete, they force each other to overdramatize small things, minimize significant things and turn their lives into nothing more than a shallow facade. Women demean themselves and each other.

Take childbirth. It's not a contest, ladies. I could tell you that I was in labor for 36 hours (TRUE) in an effort to make myself some kind of procreative heroine, but the truth is I barely remember it. Only that I was exhausted. When I listen to other women describe the agony of their labor, the misery of their pregnancy, the horror that was the most common thing in the world, frankly I just want to kill them. You had a child. It wasn't the easiest thing you ever did, but wasn't it great? Aren't you glad you did it? THEN MOVE ON AND STFU instead of turning your moment of joy into a war story and your child into an attempted murderer.

It's in our nature to be this way, otherwise we wouldn't do it. I wouldn't anyhow, but I find myself despising my fellow women as interlopers in an otherwise perfect world. I'm as bad as any of 'em.

Perhaps in my next life I can be a dude and settle my differences in mature ways, like arm wrestling.