Most of my life I have found myself drawn to men. No, not in a sexually charged way. Much more innocently than that. As an adolescent, I mainly hung out with the boys. It wasn’t a choice. I was a tomboy and didn’t relate to the average girlie-girl. If I wasn’t playing baseball with the guys, I was trying to prove to them I was worthy of their circle. Not as easy as some may think. However, I could hawk a loogie like nobody’s business. And damn, I love to talk about sex.
Men hold what they call their ‘Bro-Code’ in the highest esteem. To be fair, I get it. Boy’s want to be boys, and they don’t want to be judged for making rude gestures or lighting their farts on fire. They want to talk about porn and peacock about their latest conquest. Regardless if such victory, solely occurred while they were watching porn and arguing with Henry Longfellow.
Some of my best friends are men. I guess you could say I’m a guy’s girl. Men and I typically get along better than I do with most women. Don’t get me wrong, I love women, and have a girlie side.
A quick example: I will paint my nails and damn it will look phenomenal for a week. That is until my nail polish chips. My laziness sets in, and I find myself resembling a woman who dug herself out of a ditch, after a week of heavy drinking.
I don’t light my farts on fire, but I do have a crass sense of humour and don’t mind a dirty joke from time to time. Yes, I am a feminist, but I also understand a man’s need to be with the boys. A safe place to speak freely with each other, and act like … well, boys. Or so said by women who wish their boyfriend or husband to grow up, be a man. Ladies, they were like this when we met them, we fell in love with them and shouldn’t expect them to change just because we don’t understand them. But YES, be a man when we need you.
Obvi, there are some limitations, we as women want a man’s respect. Be good to your woman boys, they are the one’s
putting up with confused with your obligation to laugh at how you can make your balls look like a brain. Possibly it’s jealousy considering we can’t make our labia look like much more than that of a quartered peach. Whatever it happens to be which hinders us/women from understanding a man’s sense of humour, it doesn’t mean it’s perpetually wrong.
Disclaimer: I am not speaking for all men or all women. But you are smart enough to know that. Clearly, this is a personal blog.
I’ve been privy to some vulgar and filter-less locker room talk. I have watched in awe as testosterone-fueled men feed off each other. Seemingly trying to outdo one another’s raunchy banter and stories of corking the onion. Frequent use of the word balls and fart jokes fly off the cuff in an innocent yet lewd manner. I don’t believe men mean to offend. Instead, I assume it to be a competitive challenge to win the obscene story award. Apparently a distinct honour, as it seems the effort put towards conquering is often spectacular.
The reality is, when men get together as a group, there is a distinct difference ( and that’s okay ) than when a group of women get together.
It got me thinking. What if we reversed the roles. What if women spent the night behaving like men.
Let’s take a typical ladies night. We all know the one. A few of your besties get together to chat over pre-planned snacks and wine. Jane made her famous cheese ball, and Nancy brought the, to die for, seven layer dip. The night planned weeks in advance, may include some dancing on the Kitchen Island, and unquestionably some wine infused tears (usually me). If there happens to be an overconsumption of alcohol, one or more of the ladies will hold the hair of their friend and get them home safely.
Let’s do ladies night with the roles reversed.
On Friday night at seven p.m., a last-minute group text sent to all the girls.
“My husband has the boys over for a wine night and he wants me out of the house, what is everyone up to?”
After an hour of texting pictures of one another’s Mona Lisa Dumps ( the perfect shit ), the girls decide to meet at Nancy’s house. The verdict is crystal; she has a ninety-six inch t.v.. There is no better way to watch the Bachelorette in all its glory.
No one will have planned what they should bring to this last-minute affair. Accordingly each of the women will show up with the same bag of Doritos’. Most likely the newest flavour. Or the bag with a picture of DeadPool on it, because, it’s Mother-Fuckin-Dead-Pool. Although Sally will walk in while eating out of a bag of McDonald’s. Since her Husband was heading to the hockey game and didn’t have time to make her dinner.
As the women wander through the front door, a few who have already arrived will start throwing whatever object they can find at their friend’s crotch. Laughing hysterically when a golf ball finally hits its mark and bends Suzie over in pain. Somehow this will spark a conversation on the topic of STI’s and how inflamed Hannah’s vulva was ten years ago after she boned that guy from the yoga studio. He was hot, though, so it was worth it.
Of course, this is when Molly (the single friend) will stand up pull out her breasts and place them on Hannah’s face. Pulling off the milk-bag (it’s like being tea-bagged, but with boobs).
Once everyone finally arrives, it’s time to start The Bachelorette. As the men filter out of the Limo, the girls will harshly critique each man’s package. Exclaiming how they could make him the happiest man on the planet with just one ride in their gorgeous and feminine canyon of love. Obviously, each of us could make these men’s head spin, and if not, meh at least we got off.
As the night comes to an end, because all the wine is gone. A deep conversation will have two of the women in a stand-off in the corner. Between the loud yelling, waking up the babies, and the hostess separating them from knocking each other out, the crowd filters out the door. As a good will gesture, the two girls will smack each other in the crotch and proclaim, “I love you, woman.” And now they have made up.
No one will be concerned if the girls made it home safe, but the next day, sometime around two p.m., one of them will send a picture of their “brain” or another Mona Lisa Dump. And the group text will ensure everyone is okay.
Okay, so obviously this post was all in fun. I’m not trying to pigeon-hole anyone. Men and Women are different, let’s embrace it.
But I must ask, do any of you women out there want to try a role reversal night with me? We could light our farts on fire, talk about our conquests? No, no volunteers?