Several things have taken place today that leave me perplexed. Be forewarned, Street-Auburn Pisces is lurking inside of me today. Okay, she’s not inside, she’s alive and well dancing about in all her glory.
I had a physical today and knowing this, when I stepped into the shower this morning I shaved my legs, armpits, etc. (use your imagination on the etc.). The funny thing is it isn’t as though shaving my legs, pits or "etc." is going to get me a date. I really like my gyno, but as my dear friend Hot Momma (formerly Runs with Fetus or KP) puts it, “she’s like a farm hand.” Personally, I find her to be grounded, honest, and down to earth.
I don’t want my gyno thinking I have poor hygiene. If I were a gyno, I certainly wouldn’t want to see a weeks worth of stubble on one’s legs or the entrance to the bat cave when ones feet hit the stirrups.
It then caused me to ponder what purpose armpit hair serves anyway. Seriously. Especially on women. It just isn’t necessary. Doesn’t matter if you’re butch or femme, gay or straight – no one needs it. Shaving either leaves you allergic to the blades or causes you to have an allergic reaction to the aluminum in deodorants when applied to open pores. Even Tom’s Natural Deodorant isn’t friendly enough some days. (You’ll have to pry my Secret from my cold, dead hands).
Then I jumped on the ol’ menstrual bandwagon. For those that are planning a family, more power to ya. It’s a necessary evil. For those of us who have either a.) Already had our children b.) Don’t plan on having children c.) Are a lesbian or d.) Have had invasive surgery to avoid this, there needs to be a form with a box you can check that says X Periods no longer useful, please stop.
Not to mention stretch marks. Is it not enough we lose absolute control of our bodies for 40 weeks in order to procreate, we have to have stretch marks to serve as a reminder?! We already have the kid to prove we did it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m one of the lucky ones…no stretch marks. I dodged that bullet. But, for those women who have the constant reminder of stretch marks (and this has to really suck when you’re kid is being a brat – or your husband is being an asshole), aren’t you glad you sacrificed a smokin’ bod for *this*!
Men should have to squeeze a watermelon out their dicks and have to look down and realize they’ve forfeited six pack abs and pecks to die for only to know their chest is now going to become a utility…a tool. Yeah, like THAT would fly.
And bras. In as much as I don’t particularly care for my breasts to be moving about freely while at work, bras suck.
And what idiot invented high heeled shoes. A woman’s toes aren’t supposed to fit into a pointy shoe. I studied dance for ten years. Ballet, jazz, modern and Pointe. After dancing around on your toes in a ballet slipper with wood in the toe, stilettos were no big deal for a long time. Then one day I realized it was bullshit and gave it up. In all honesty, I loved how I looked in 4” heels. I have a 35” inseam barefooted so you do the math. Being 6’2” when wearing heels and female only works well when you’re straight – Men love tall women. Not so much in the lesbian world.
Mammograms. Dare I go here? Again, a necessary evil that continues to save lives daily. But why is there not a mechanism in which to place a man’s penis so that it may be squeezed mercilessly in between two x-ray plates, just so we can take a little look see?
Cellulite and woman have more layers of fat. WTF is up with that. It isn’t enough that we shave, trim, bleed, bear the children, have stretch marks, wear bras and high-heels and suffer with the discomfort of mammograms --- now we have to exist each day knowing that cellulite is our uninvited guest if we aren’t perfect eaters who work out endlessly? Nice. The perfect reward.
PMS. Good Gawd… PMS. Talk about the Gods thinking they have a sense of humor. You take a woman who has or is experiencing items 1-8 on a daily basis and add in PMS. Be afraid people. Be very afraid. The sad thing is that when PMS takes hold, it isn’t as though we don’t know it’s coming. It’s starts with the salt/sugar/salt/sugar craving which you satisfy knowing that if you don’t - someone might die. Then you add in the tears that creep up on you if for no other reason than you’ve eaten too much salt and sugar and now you feel like a pig.
As though the rest isn’t enough, was PMS really necessary for chrissake?
These are just some of the things I find myself pondering today. I was riding up in the elevator at work with Ms Karma earlier while blathering my fit o’ rage about such pointless dribble and had a stranger who works on a different floor giggling her butt off. A blog was born. Of course it helps to have Ms Karma (my fellow sufferer in womanhood) perpetuating my rage.
In all seriousness, I love being a woman… I wouldn’t change a thing. I love putting on my makeup every morning; I love that I gave birth to a beautiful, smart, funny little girl who adores me; I love that each woman’s body is different – each a work of art. I just find it amazing what we get used to and the shit we have to do just to be us.
For those men who are married to women (Tuna Man, Charlie and Hot Momma's Mister come to mind), go out, right now, and buy the biggest freakin’ bouquet of flowers you can find and tell your woman thank you.