The Piff party which I had been beating you over the head with rocked. So rocked. It was this awesome: I was drinking water the whole time I was there—Rwenzori Mineral Water ™ no less– but I still got high.
High on life, baby.
In the course of the party a Piff T-shirt was sold to me. By the time it transpired that this T-shirt was actually a woman’s T-shirt, however, I was already too drunk (on life) to object. I was so drunk in fact, that I was kind of enjoying this garment. My blouse and I just proceeded to revel and make merry with abandon until bedtime.
It is only now that I begin to give grave and sober consideration to the event aforementioned. Hmm. How should I feel about wearing a blouse? Should I feel emasculated? Frightened? Good?
Don’t get me wrong, being a guy does have its drawbacks (you don’t have your own boobs. You have to use someone else’s) but I like my masculinity, and I wouldn’t opt for a change. Normally. However, there are tempting aspects to being a chick.
And not just how cosy blouses can feel.
When one discusses gender differences, of course, one always runs the risk of being offensive. Like Bill Cosby. That sexist bastard. I swear Bill. Have a coke and a smile and shut the fuck up.
(Pauses while all you eighties babies try so hard to remember where you have heard that line before.)
Now, one difference between men and woman is menstruation. Men don’t and women do.
Another difference between men and women is understanding menstruation. Men, once again don’t.
We have no idea what it is about and we are quite afraid to ask. Even if we do ask, I mean, honestly, do you really think we would get a full appreciation of what goes on, what it feels like, what it entails? No. To guys, therefore, periods are like the Kraken. All we know is that it exists and beyond that, just a cloud of myth and legend and fear.
Gets me wondering why women don’t use our ignorance to their advantage more often.
As I luxuriated on my sofa on Sunday, still wearing the blouse, (I know, I know, but it’s really comfy, okay? Don’t judge me!) I thought, I really should have applied for my current job as a woman. Then I would only go to work on days when there was something cool going on on facebook.
My bosses are guys. And they are careful, trepidatious and nervous about women’s issues. They don’t want to be seen as insensitive in any way. So if I were to call and say, for example, “Hello?”
They would reply, “Hello.”
The dialogue would proceed as such.
“I can’t come to work today. “
“Why not, Beatrice?” (If I applied for my job as a woman, I would have to have a woman’s name, you see?)
“If you must know, I’ve got cramps.”
“Cramps bitch muthafucker! I’ve got cramps! You stupid idiot man! With your fucking hideous penis-thing! Have you ever had a fallopian tube? Do you know what it’s like to have things shredding the walls of your fallopian tube? You BASTARD!!”
“Um, Beatrice, I’m not…”
“Why don’t you ever listen to me? Why don’t you like me? I thought we were friends. I … I… loved you…”
“No, look it’s okay. Take the day off. Take as much time as you need. We’ll cover for you while you are gone. Get some rest.” Hangs up before any reply.
Heh heh. Sweet.
So I’d stay at home lounging on my sofa, living my male cramps-free life in bliss until I feel like arguing about Iron Man 2 or the western media’s portrayal of Africa on facebook. Then I may return to the office.
But once that bores me, or once I get FlashForward on DVD, I’ll make another call.
“Boss, I’ve got cramps.”
“What? But you had cramps just two weeks ago… I thought it should be at least a month before the next…”
“Oh, so you’re an expert now? Oh, so you know more about my plumbing than I do? Oooooh! Who’s a smart MALE now, huh? You DO NOT HAVE FALLOPIAN TUBES, YOU ASSHOLE!!! I do!! I am the one who knows whether I do or do not have cramps! You BASTARD! And stop thinking about my fallopian tubes, pervert!”
“Okay, okay, Beatrice, don’t – get some rest. Take all the time you need. I’ll cover for you. Hope you feel better soon.”