Man, I sure am glad I’m not a woman
Every night when I say my prayers, I thank God for the many blessings He’s given me in this life: My beautiful, healthy children. My wonderful family. A job I love. Devoted friends. And on and on it goes.
Lately, however, I’ve been thanking Him for something He didn’t give me: Ovaries.
I am much too careless and lazy to be a woman, which seems to me like tedious work.
From fortifying shampoos and hairspray to volumizing mousse and pump spray leave-in conditioners, just taking care of the hair on your head requires more attention than I could muster.
Highlights and lowlights? I only use them on the interstate. Give me a bar of soap and a trickle of water and I’ll have the entire beautification process completed in less than four minutes.
Hair care is just the tip of the iceberg.
If I was a self-respecting woman, my New York & Company purse might contain a cosmetic eye-brush set, complete with sponges, brushes for cheeks, eyebrows and lips, and powder or foundation. Lipstick, lip gloss and a pocket mirror or two would be mandatory accessories.
Can you believe there is actually a tool called an eyelash curler? Men, when was the last time you thought about the angle of your eyelashes?
I’m not even close to finished.
Painful procedures would have to be performed on my body to make me beautiful.
Tweezers play a major role in this torture. Hot wax is also a player. What the heck is an exfoliant and what am I exfoliating?
If I had to shave my legs the hair would never grow back. I would look like I was walking around on pink-tinted shards of glass. And we haven’t even talked about the armpits yet.
Shower gels, lathering cleanser and lotion would be bathroom staples, along with my cosmetic brush set, bristled hot air brush, hair straightener and curling iron. In place of throwing down cold beers with my buddies, I would savor pedicures and tanning bed visits. Nail polish and mascara would be my Bud Light and chicken wings.
Gene Simmons-like high heels would reside in my closet next to the other 96 pairs of shoes I own.
I would never buy a pair of jeans with the back pockets too far apart because it would make my butt look bigger. I would consider it a rite of passage to find flaws in and make fun of every other attractive female I see.
And then there is the biggie: the menstrual cycle.
While I would love to be able to blame all of my bad moods on something that is universally accepted, I certainly wouldn’t want to go through this.
In the past, I’ve attempted to buy the protective measures for this monthly cycle for others. And I always bought the wrong thing. Every single time!
There are way too many options in that aisle. Wings, liners, multipacks … whew! If it was me, I’d probably go with beach towels and duct tape.
Finally, there is child birth. This is the monster, the biggest of all biggies. I’ve always feared having to someday pass a kidney stone, which isn’t even as big as a match head. I cannot imagine passing a 7 pound, 8 ounce match head.
Thankfully, the only volumizing I do is with my remote. I own no brushes. I don’t even have enough hair for a comb.
My eyelashes are just as they were the day God made them. The hair on my legs runs wild and I can make my New Balance tennis shoes fit any occasion.
All I need is a razor, a toothbrush and deodorant.
And, in a pinch, I can do without any of them for several days.
Men, let’s give credit where credit is due. If we were the ones with wombs, the entire human race would be extinct.
Billy Bruce is a freelance writer who lives in Pedro. He can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.