Top Ten

August 6, 2012

Essays for Giggles

In no particular order, I am listing the ten worst things about being a woman.   I wanted to list them in some sort of dramatic countdown, but they all seem to be about equal on any given day, and at any rate, individual women will relate to them in different ways, so I thought I would just throw it all out at once and see how it sticks.

That time of the month:  Might as well start here.   It’s a biggie.  Once I saw a sign in a bar that said, “Never trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn’t die.”  I completely agree with that.  There is something so very “Alien” about it.  First off, it’s disgusting.  Secondly, it’s disgusting.  NO ONE enjoys it.  I find that a woman is constantly planning her life around her period:  First overnight trip with a boyfriend?  Wedding? Honeymoon?  Pool Party?  Birthday?

No one wants to be bleeding on any special occasion – not only do you feel fat, achy and pissed off – you also feel disgusting.  There is no way around that, because… well, it’s disgusting.  And if it weren’t bad enough that you were planning your social life around it, you are also planning your daily To-Do list – you are either checking to see that you have enough supplies to get through the month, purchasing said supplies, or frequently emptying your bathroom trash, while discreetly averting your eyes.

I don’t believe God is male or female… but if I were forced at gunpoint to state a preference, to me, there is no way a female God would have visited this plague upon her people.

Pregnancy:  The first best thing about being pregnant – when you want to be – is that you get a brand new human being out of the deal.  The second best thing is that you don’t have a period for NINE months… and if you breastfeed, factor that time as a no-go, and if you get an IUD after that and are one of the lucky ones, you could avoid a menstrual cycle for YEARS.

A friend of mine says that a lack of menstrual cycles is your body’s way of telling the universe that you are ready to die, to make way for younger, breeding females.  Sounds reasonable… but I am willing to take my chances if it means I never have to remove a black, toxic, waste dump of a tampon from my vagina ever again.

Back to pregnancy – I could write a freakin’ book on this topic… the weight gain, the changes in body shape, the droop of once perky breasts… but for me, a tall women who once wore a size TEN shoe, the worst is the fact that my foot is now a HALF SIZE bigger… a half-size!  A full size… fine, I could buy a size eleven… but a half-size?  Do you know how hard it is to find shoes in a normal department store that are 10 and a HALF?  Aaghhh, I will never get over the indignity of getting a BIGGER FOOT, out of the deal. It is too much to bear after the indignity of childbirth… wasn’t losing the ability to cut off urine in mid-stream punishment enough?

Restrictive Garments:  Originally, I was just going to mention the bra.  A garment I vehemently hate.  I once had a friend – with a MUCH larger bounty than mine – say, “don’t you just hate it when you’re not wearing a bra?”  I looked at her like she had two heads.  “Well, no,” I said, “I hate every minute that I have one on.”  I would NEVER wear a bra if I could get away with it.  And with my modest, post-pregnancy rack – I can often get away with it.  Unless the shirt is particularly thin or tight, I am frequently going commando in the upper chest region.  Never met a bra I could stand.  My favorite thing to do is wear a built-in-bra tank top for that two-in-one feeling.

But as bad as bras are – it’s a shame I wasn’t old enough to burn mine in the 70’s – what about compression garments for the nether region?  Corsets, girdles, Spanx… chastity belts – by whatever name, their purpose is to squeeze the upper and lower torso – of a legitimate HUMAN BEING, until her internal organs are squeezed to pulp and she can only speak in a high soprano.  That’s just not right.

Victoria’s Secret:  I am not sure what is worse – restrictive unmentionables, or under-things that merely drape over all your unsightly bulges and cleave to the crack of your ass with the width of a shoestring.  There may be a woman reading this who looks good in these lacy, tiny ensembles, but she is in the minority.  I can guarantee you she is currently hungry, and may have an actual eating disorder.

A male Victoria Secret worker was once asked by a female customer, what would look best on her, and his answer was, “what would she most like to see lying on the floor?”  That’s right, lingerie is for men.  And they don’t really want to see us in it for too long.  I say, go to bed in some comfy PJ’s with a silk-screened Victoria Secret model on the chest.  Best of both worlds.

High Heels:  While I seem to be on the subject of painful, male-created clothing articles – high heels are a legal, modern-day torture device.   Have you ever heard how the Japanese would bind Geishas’ feet so they were stunted and fit into more pleasing-to-the-eye, tiny shoes, even though their feet looked like the elephant’s man’s face?

When I was young, I hung with the best of them.  I am 5’9 and I would wear 4” heels like a proud Amazon Warrior.   I had the tolerance of a woman who was damned, bound and determined to look good, even if it ultimately caused me to lose my ability to walk upright like a human.

Now, I still love a high heel.  I do.  I am conditioned to love them.  But a big ole’ fat wedge is the best I can do, cause it’s not considered sexy to limp on bloody stumps to your fancy restaurant table.

NOT Forever Young:  Men are not held to the same standard as women as far as age relates to desirability.   I once saw a movie where Sean Connery – a hottie in his day – played a love interest to Catherine Zeta Jones – when he was old enough to be her grandfather. Seriously.  I could not stay focused on the plot, as I was too busy trying not to throw up in my mouth.

Male actors routinely play the lead against women half their age – without the discrepancy in age ever being the point.  Apparently, 50-old-men are supposed to aspire to marry twenty-something women…  for their second wife that is, and they will have met said jail bait because she roomed with their daughter in college.

Ciao Bella:  “Goodbye, Beautiful”… ‘cause it is pretty damn near unattainable for 99.999 percent of the female population.  If we could outlaw airbrushing and photo shop tomorrow, we would all feel better about ourselves.  I would even settle for the same standard of beauty applying to both men and women… while his forehead wrinkles and crinkly eyes indicate “character”, my same laugh lines guarantee me status as the Wicked Witch of the West.

And this is not a harmless notion.  Women spend BILLIONS of dollars a year on face creams and eye masks, and in extreme cases, die under the knife trying to turn back the hands of time.

Peeing:  I don’t have penis envy.  Don’t want one.  Freud was a product of his male-centric time, but I DO envy a man’s ability to pee standing wherever he happens to feel like it.  I was driving down the interstate once and noticed a car in the emergency lane, with the passenger door open, two feet on the ground and a rainbow arc of piss shooting from inside the car.  The man didn’t even have to GET OUT OF THE CAR.  Now, THAT I envy.

Same case scenario, and I have to wander 30 feet off the interstate into tick infested weeds, and pee while squatting, simultaneously soaking my ankles and feet.  That’s not right.

Men:  Yet another book I could write.  Every woman has her own set of stories ranging from tragedy to comedy on “men”; can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.  I guess if you’re lucky enough to be a lesbian, then you would not have this in your Top Ten, but I hazard a guess, that sexual relationships are not that much different, and lesbians can probably relate, too.  I mean, I watched Ellen DeGeneres and Anne Heche in the late 90’s… somebody in that relationship was an asshole.

Now, once you have a relatively domesticated male who can leave his cave and speak in something other than grunts, you still have to deal with the fact that he is a man.  They are good for a lot of things:  mowing, moving couches, and making babies, but not so good for things like discussing feelings, or telling you how they feel, or in fact, feeling anything at all other than the need to attempt procreation, long past any feasible possibility (with YOU that is, perhaps this is why he needs the second wife).

Female Communication:  The lack of a suitable mutual language with men, brings me to the most undesirable of topics, communication among the ladies, if that is what you can call it.  I am a woman and I can barely explain it.  I am fluent in this almost entirely non-verbal language, but I don’t know how… and after decades on the planet, I sometimes wonder if I am interpreting it correctly.

First of all, we rarely say anything to each other’s face – we talk about each other to mutual friends; or mutual enemies; we start rumors and new social cliques; we go cold, and non-verbal; we go back-stabbing sugary sweet; we take offense at the subtlest of incorrect social moves; we misunderstand; we NEVER forget… and God Help you if for some reason you don’t speak the language… it’s like swimming in shark infested waters.

I would much rather be like a guy; punch you in the face at lunch, and play racquet ball with you after work, with no acknowledgement that we ever had a disagreement in between.  After winning the match, I would also pee in the bushes just outside the club.

I know being a dude is hard.  It’s gotta be.  Even with all my feminine trials and tribulations, I don’t wanna be one… guess that says something, right?  But there is an undeniably specific set of circumstances that make being a woman a challenge, no doubt about that… it’s no wonder we’re full of such piss and vinegar.

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About reneadijab

Renea Dijab

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One Comment on “Top Ten”

  1. healthyfrenchie Says:

    haha when I saw the title I thought it’s not fair that they get to pee standing up and they have no period. No babies for me yet, but I have to admit part of the reason is that I cannot imagine my ass getting any bigger and my boobs getting bigger then all deflated. And let’s not forget child birth!
    I however cannot wonder about without a bra! Things just move around to much so it’s one contraption I am grateful for 😉


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