Man, I Feel Like a Woman, Part Deux

Why it's hard being a woman:

1) Breast sweat. Whether you have honeydews, cherries or bananas, we’ve all been there: you step into your car in the late afternoon in mid July and instantly your breasts begin to form two industrial sized pools of sweat that soaks into your polysynthetic bra and grips your jugs like an octopus. And although your AC is able to dry a salty crust on your hairline, it is no match for your dripping bosoms. Nothing short of the Santa Ana’s or maybe a NASA wind tunnel is gonna dry that wet-nap of an over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder out until you peel it off like a self-adhesive name tag. Your beautiful bosom becomes a horrific distraction for any run-in with a near-future conversationalist as you have a constellation of sweat-beads marking the direct center of your blouse. Here’s to wet boobs.

2) Your portal to the dimension of groundless reality. I have a theory that as women we have a fontanel that never fully closes shut after birth. It is within this gap in our skulls that we seem to take harmless misunderstandings and self-conscious thoughts and turn them into psychosomatic altered realities that seem oddly realistic to us. It generates within the fontanel then pulsates outward forming a force shield of irrationality. Did he not call one night? Next thing you know, he is a womanizing, narcissistic, future wife beating butt hole that is really calling his ex-girlfriend and quoting Shakespeare to her; you just know it. So we begin to eat a pint of Chocolate Chocolate and More Chocolate ice cream and a slab of ribs, watch The Notebook, write how beautiful we are in L’Oreal Homewrecker Red lipstick on our bathroom mirrors to constantly remind us until morning that we indeed have HUGE insecurity issues, call our mothers and whine to her about not being able to find a good man and that we’re going out first thing tomorrow and finding the hottest guy in his office and going to take him on a lunch date in front of his face, then cry ourselves to sleep because Maybelline obviously lied when they told us we were worth it. And this line of thought, to us, is totally rational. Acceptable, even. When in reality, he was stuck in an airport during a lay-over and didn’t have cell phone reception. He got home at 1:30 AM and decided not to call you because he knew it would piss you off and then he’d be in trouble again. And what does he get for the lack of 3G network and a good dose of courtesy? A psycho hose beast.

3) You never can beat the panic from that warm, wet underwear feeling from an unexpected period in the middle of a long, boring meeting on the day you wore a khaki skirt and your expensive Victoria’s Secret panties. Or better yet, the mania-induced psychosis from a raging yeast infection that you dread having to cure with dripping over the counter goo and an overnight sized maxi pad that you have to wear to work ALL DAY LONG. Or how about a good old dose of bite-the-head-off-the-pimply-kid-running-the-drive-thru-because-he-only-gave-you-one-packet-of-ranch PMS? I prefer the look of my muffin top bulging over my “fat pants” for the entire week surrounding my period. GOD BLESS HORMONES or I guess none of us would be here.