Women
This post is one of much controversy, folks. Today is the day I brawl with the age old questions regarding women; why they do the shit they do.
A wise, insightful male once stated a fact that has become something of an acknowledged explanation for his fellow men to understand our kind: "Bitches be cray."
The "cray" that emulates from said "bitches" takes on endless forms that forever break and remould the boundaries of acceptability within society. However, whoever defined women as being more confusing than deciphering Justin Bieber’s ever questioned sexual preference was a top notch fool. We are such simple creatures; stroking our hair and telling us we’re pretty will just about diffuse any gritty female related situation you find yourselves in. Another unsettling similarity we share with the common canine is that we want chocolate when we shouldn’t have it. Chocolate; known by all women as God’s apology for forcing us to regularly menstruate and also the reason I personally have no need for handbags, choosing instead to hide my belongings within my many rolls of flab. Sadly though, those around us when we are denied (or overindulge in) the sweet nectar will suffer greatly from our desperate craving induced mood swings and subsequently the self-loathing ‘I’m so fat!’ groans that immediately follow its animalistic devouring.
Tip for all you enduring men: Always keep a Galaxy stash and run far away after distribution. Be she Mum, girlfriend or wife, she will have always had a crush on Willy Wonka due entirely to his ability to distribute chocolate. She’ll never love you more than when you adopt this role for her (top hat and cane optional). Subsequently, when we ask you afterwards if our ass looks big in our new midi-dress, try to avoid giving us a look that implies our behind has the potential to take over the world with its sheer mass and you’ll be just fine.
We ladies have many shared weaknesses. We would make for the worst superheroes, with our kryptonite being as simple as a man in a suit or a teacup pig, and our heroic catchphrase being something along the lines of ‘So badass, God had to put our massive balls on our chest to avoid discomfort through chaffing’. Perhaps if this were the case, it might finally be considered socially acceptable for us to walk around wearing crowns and pass them off as some sort of costume.
Sadly, we as women are flawed on more levels than an unnecessarily oversized Primark. We repeatedly stab ourselves in the eye with mascara (FYI- there is no greater pain), genuinely don’t understand why we aren’t skinny after one gym session, and have really weird relationships with horses-- seriously, what is that about?! Maybe it’s that they’re the closest thing we can get to unicorns, I don’t know, but what I do know is that no rose is without its thorns just the same as no woman is without her psychotic tendencies. We spend our days moaning about our hair not being long enough and researching our recent crush (AKA our potential future husband) to see whether or not his Dad still has a full head of shiny locks (premature balding is a total genetic deal-breaker).
Yes, we’re crazy, but put down the Haterade lads; normality is dull. Admittedly, there is a definitive ‘bat shit’ line of crazy that should not be approached, and if she’s poking holes in condoms or saving all your used tissues then naturally it would be wise to distract her with something shiny and run for your life (whilst praying for the safety of her future hoard of cats), but otherwise you’re just going to have to embrace it and love us for it because they always say a good man can give a woman the confidence to feel pretty, fabulous and happy... Wait...or is that tequila?
