Menstruating once per month is the worst–except for when you’re irregular and you menstruate twice per month, because THAT is actually the worst. This whole period thing is the only reason I would ever want to be a man because it would mean the end of my period. Otherwise, I rather enjoy being a woman. I like being able to have long hair that touches just below my shoulders and not being mistaken for a surfer bro. I also enjoy that I was born with thick, frizzy and wavy hair and having to spend several hundreds of dollars each year to have professionals handle the mess on my head because I try and fail quite persistently. But I love being a woman.
If I’m feeling short, I can just pop on a pair of pumps! I don’t have to settle for just one single height either–one inch, two inch, five inch! The list goes on and on! I can go from a solid 5’5 to a towering 6 foot in a matter of seconds! And to think all I would have to go through is a series of blisters, a bit of blood, a handful of bandages and several rounds of icing just to scare away men because I appear too tall, thus making them feel inferior. But I love being a woman!
I love being able to take my face that doesn’t get much sun in the winter and painting it up to look like I just vacationed for a week in the Caribbean–it’s so, so great! Men get weird looks if they apply makeup while I get whistles from sanitation workers and day laborers when I do! Man, I LOVE being a woman!
And dresses?! Don’t even get me started! There is nothing more freeing than not having to stick my legs or arms into individual tunnels of fabric each and every day. I can just slip a uniform piece of textile over my head and walk right out there door! I can even wear a pair of tummy-controlling-shorts to help disguise that Taco Bell I ate last night and to prevent the chaffing of my inner thighs also from frequent visits to the Taco Bell. Te amo being la mujer.
Salads–man, let me tell you about how much I love salads! I love being able to go to a restaurant and, as a woman, not even having to browse the menu because I just know it’s proper to get a salad! My favorite part? Watching my male colleagues have to deal with that pesky burger grease dripping down their hands and arms and into their sleeves. Such a mess! I mean, I don’t even have sleeves because I am constantly wearing a dress! Seriously, what’s better than a bowl of lettuce with more raw materials tossed within that leafy goodness? Certainly not any kind of delicious meat!
All of these wonderful traits are just some of the reasons it is totally okay to have to deal with blood stains and blood soaked pads and tampons and cramps and mood swings and swelling and exhaustion and discomfort and the constant checking of every single surface I sit on over the course of that 3-5 day period where I’m pretty sure I exert more blood than that of a gun wound. I get to wear heels!
Besides, I guess I can just wait until I’m in my 50s for menopause to settle in. Until then, I will chew my lettuce proudly knowing there’s a cotton tube shoved up my vagina.