I’m quite happy to have a pair of invisible male organs because it means I’m not the average window-shopping, man-chasing, fashion-obsessed, wrinkle-panicking woman. I like beer and grub plus I’m not afraid to sweat. I’m actually decent looking too.
No, I’m not gay and I’m not one of those straight women who forever think they were born in the wrong body. I’m one hundred per cent hot-blooded female and I’m not afraid to show it. However, I know that making a total nagging fool out of myself and jabbering about fashion and how fat I’ve become will not find me a man or help me keep him.
If you think about it most brilliant females are or were a lot like me – not that I’m boasting brilliance. Self praise is no recommendation.
Now with all the rambling over – and at the risk of sounding like an overbearing twit myself – let me tell you about how I’ve been entertained for most of this year. For some reason, the talk is all about men, sex and babies; topics best taken in moderation.
I just don’t get female obsession with movie stars and singers – they are unattainable! Where would male prowess be without female participation? And don’t get me wrong, I love children, I really do, but that doesn’t mean I need to hear about the varying colours of baby poop over lunch!
I’m often misunderstood, because I do believe that fashion, babies and men are important. Without fashion men wouldn’t dribble and ogle at us women. Without men there would be no babies and without babies, well, how would I be entertained.
Now for some odd reason people get the impression I have something against women. How insane is that? They also tell me that I’m an insensitive brute with too much testosterone in my body.
But I’ll tell you something though, it doesn’t matter how much I complain about the topics of conversation, I would never give up the entertainment for anything.
Come on, where else will I get the idea that mustard in my sandwich is baby poop? Where else will I get such natural entertainment?
I enjoy choking on my food when I hear someone wearing a wig tearing another wig wearer to shreds. My drink spills through my nostrils when I hear a fat person call her neighbour a fridge and I absolutely want to fall to the floor with laughter when I watch the lost expressions on the faces of the men who’re getting an earful too.
Call it what you will, this ability to glean mirth from the dross helps keep me sane.
