If I were a boy
What It Feels Like For a Girl and If I Were a Boy
Posted on 10/17/2012
What It Feels Like For a Girl and If I Were a Boy…
Too many times to count I’ve thought to myself “I wonder what it would be like to have a penis
for a day. No, a week. Make that a week. How much damage could I cause in a week if only I
had a penis?” Hi, I’m Emma and I’m a thinker.
But, really. If I had a dime for every time I heard a dude say, “If I had boobs, I’d play with them
all day,” I’d be FILTHY rich and boys need to know we think the same thing, except about
having a weiner. It’s so bizarre to think that I will never know what it’s like to have that unless I
pull a Chaz Bono on myself, but I think I’ve given my mom enough mental heart attacks that she
doesn’t need any more surprises from me. Family first, y’all.
Besides the physical differences between men and women, I have also seriously pondered the
vast distinctions between the sexes when it comes to how we process things, how we operate on
a day-to-day basis and our overall attitude about life. I’ve had a legitimate Beyonce moment and
If I were a boy, would life be better?
And I’m not talking “better” in the sense of being promoted or gaining more respect in the
workforce - I’m talking emotionality-wise. How would it feel not to cry at the ruffling of paper
for an entire week every month? How would it feel to be able to tell your friends to fuck off if
they were being assholes and not get in a 5-day standoff about it? How would it feel to be able to
throw on a sports jersey and jeans and be ready for a night out?
Let’s break it down, shall we?
Being “bigger” doesn’t matter. How many big boys do you see with hot pieces of tail
on their arm? When a dude has a jolly belly, it’s overlooked for their personality and
probably some fuggin’ great facial hair. Being spooned by a protruding beer belly and
wrapped up in gargantuan thighs makes a gal all warm and tingly inside – not to mention
makes her feel like a regular 00 supermodel. I actually PREFER when dudes have
meat on their bones so I know my jiggle-party is not a depressing party of one. Jiggling
together is better than jiggling alone.
Boys can eat whatever the hell they want and don’t want to off themselves when they
realize what they’ve devoured. This goes hand-in-hand with the whole notion of boys
being “allowed” to be bigger specimen. This is also why girlfriends end up gaining
weight the deeper and deeper they crawl into the relationship hole. “Oh, he wants to
order pizza? I mean, I don’t want to deny him of his wants. I guess I’ll have to eat some,
too.” “Wings and beer on Sundays is like our ritual, you guys. It’s our cute little tradition
that makes me less cuter naked.” “We’re a couple and we breathe so we might as well
make some pasta.” Yes, I eat queso and sit around with my pants undone but in private.
With good friends. Out of the public light. Boys? Nah. Boys grab their weenuses and eat
queso like beasts for everyone to see and are PROUD.
Pimples or odd skin issues in general? NO PROBLEM. Ya know why? Cause there
isn’t much they can do about it anyway. Boys aren’t expected to have complexions that
resemble a hairless Asian’s butt. Their whiteheads often go unnoticed or are written
off with the understanding that “they can’t help it.” Ladies, on the other hand, shall not
have ONE blemish on their face otherwise they might as well hole up in their apartment
and wait for the inevitable spinsterhood they’re life is headed toward. How DARE you
overlook that microscopic zit right below your chin line that no one else can see but you!
Leave! Leave now and don’t come back until you’re perfect! I should also point out that
unibrows, random patches of hair growth, unkempt fingernails and toenails – all of these
things are overlooked on men whereas women have to devote literal DAYS to grooming.
The amount of hours, money and last glimpses of sanity that go into making sure not one
hair is out of place is enough to drive us over the edge. And it does. Why do you think
we’re all insane?
Boys can pee ANYWHERE. This is probably the biggest point of jealousy I have
toward men. What I wouldn’t give to have a stick for a peeing device that I can just whip
out wherever and relieve myself. This seemingly small advantage is one of the major
reasons I’ve written off music festival forever. When you spend half of My Morning
Jacket’s set waiting in line for a port-a-potty with shit-smeared walls and spot boys just
standing in corners of grass inconspicuously, IT’S NOT FAIR. And, yes, girls can pop
a squat if we REALLY need to but I’m not sure having pee-soaked inner thighs for the
remainder of the night is really worth the risk.
Fights don’t exist unless it’s over a girl and even then, they blow over in 30 seconds
flat. You know why men and women will never fully understand each other? Because
women have to rehearse exactly how they’re going to confront their friend and re-read
the email or text 12 times before sending it to be sure they didn’t use the wrong adjective
or maybe say something that could be misconstrued to be a dig at their friend’s late
aunt who worked at that small boutique in Maryland who she never had that close of a
relationship with but had a weird connection to and is super sensitive about that whole
thing. We read it out loud. We make our mom read it. We make our sister read it. We
get 107 opinions on how it ‘comes across’ before we send it and then we sit in a pool
of our anxiety poop until she responds. When men have an issue with another man, the
resolution is so simple. They either fist fight, say “Hey. Dude. Stop being an asshole” or,
my favorite, NOTHING. SILENCE. An understood temporary break from one another
that isn’t discussed or analyzed. Distance to control their natural rage and then resolution,
nonverbally with a pat on the back. Unless you’re dealing with gay men – that’s a whole
other screaming, crying, backstabbing ball game that terrifies me.
Boys can turn their minds off which I’m almost certain is impossible for girls to do.
The way men can so easily compartmentalize their lives makes me wanna puke in jealous
disgust. If the two of you are in a fight, he can go to work and act completely normal,
completing some of the best work of his career while you’re in your cube, barely focused,
trembling and listening to Beach House while salty tears roll down your mascara-stained
face. Long has it been a debate that women cannot reach the levels of success men can
because our emotions get in the way and to that I say – YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
DON’T TRY TO TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CAN’T DO! ::sobbing::
Having said all of this and listing what I think to be incredibly valid points about the
upsides of being a dude, I have concluded that…
I just love shopping and dressing up too much to ever really wish for a man’s life. Thank
the lard it’s not up to me to make the first move when it comes to dating and that society
finds it completely acceptable and almost EXPECTS us to cry all the time, without any
warning. No – I enjoy being a girl too much. But, boys – I still like you. A lot. And don’t
blame you for being the way you are. I would be too if I were you. But I’m not. So with
that, I say:
“When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curl,
I float as the clouds on air do,
I enjoy being a girl!”
Emma is funny and you can find more of her at her amazing fantastic blog, Emma's Things, which you would be a crazy person not to check out and/or read in its entirety.
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