After having a particularly bad day recently, which was mostly the result of being a woman, I thought I’d make a list of sweeping generalisations on rubbish things about us girls. I normally really enjoy it, but, let’s face it, there are some pretty godawful things about being the pink stickwoman.
It’s obvious, it’s cliched, it’s an easy point, but it’s also diabolically and barbarically undignified. Yes we bleed for five days and don’t die – that’s pretty cool – but it’s not cool when you’re standing in a public toilet trying to hold up your Maxi dress to prevent it trailing in someone else’s wee with one hand, and dealing with the results of menstruation with the other hand. (I’ve said too much.)
I’m sure the blokes will agree on this one. Hormones turn us into raging lunatics, weeping puddles, or exploding volcanoes of fury. Whichever one, it’s a nightmare. Imagine this, men, if you will: you are buying carrots. The carrots are normal orange carrots. You are perfectly fine with these carrots. You are content to coexist in a world with carrots. You are just putting the carrots into your basket, when, suddenly and without warning, a black cloud of doom descends upon you and you realise instantly that everything in the world is
I mean seriously shit. There’s-no-way-out-and-we’re-stuck-in-this-devilish-hellhole-forever-and-why-doesn’t-everything-just-die shit. You’re standing in a supermarket and you’ve realised that actually you’d like to kill yourself. And as for the carrots – well. Carrots are
Backache, neckache, shoulderache. Losing them, getting them stolen, never finding anything in them. If ever someone was going to erect a statue to represent Woman, it would be of a woman rummaging in her handbag with her keys in her mouth, trying to find that thing that she knows is in there but she’ll be buggered if she can find it. The hole in the handbag lining is the bane of our lives. It makes us accuse our nearest and dearest of theft and pillage, after which we realise that all our worldly goods are simply languishing in a fluffy dusty darkness.
This morning I found inside the lining of my handbag: my new lipgloss, for which I’d spent a whole 20 minutes searching my bedroom, my hayfever nose spray, two packets of chewing gum, my iPod, blusher brush, a tampon, one pound, my Cafe Nero’s loyalty card, three car alarms and a small child. It’s just a nightmare.
Do you realise how much more money us women spend than men? We have to buy the monthly lady equipment, as well as razors, waxers, hair removal lotions, lotions to make hair softer, longer, shorter. Hair gel, hair spray, hair serum, hair mousse, hair de-frizzer. Hair calmer-downer, hair bigger-upper. Then there’s make up – but not just your mascara, lipstick, eyeshadow, blusher, oh no – that is the tip of the iceberg, my male friends – what about the primer, concealer, illuminator, highlighter, foundation, pressed powder, loose powder, mousse powder, talcum powder? And then we have to take it all off. Remover, cleanser, toner, face wash, face mask, face scrub, body wash, body buff, body-why-don’t-you-just-burn-your-money-in-a-huge-bonfire.
And what do blokes have to buy? A razor. A single, paltry, wretched little razor. Maybe a spot of hair gel. Bit of deodorant. Big deal.
So we may look nice but WE CAN’T AFFORD TO EAT.
5. Rubbish Presents
It’s almost guaranteed that once a woman reaches a certain age, the only things she will receive for Christmas and birthdays and any other occasion in which gift-giving is appropriate, are soap and candles. ‘Smellies’. Those baskets of ripped tissue paper in which delicate vials of lavender face cream and rosewater body lotion snuggle smugly, or giant, unnecessary where-the-hell-am-I-going-to-put-this candles, that stare at us brashly, knowing that what we really wanted was Commando on DVD and a fuck-off bottle of gin.
6. General Maintenance
Dammit, we women were born with hair, and, due to the fact that evolution hasn’t twigged that neither we nor society actually want most of this hair, we spend a lot of our precious lives trying to get the hell rid of it. Yes, we get things waxed. A lot. Do you think we enjoy it? Do you think we relish in the fact that a lot of people make a lot of money out of removing our unsightly bodily fibers? Do you think we look forward to having a scary Russian woman called Olga tell us to put on a paper thong and stick our legs in the air, and then go at our delicate ladyparts like a crazed rottweiler with a load of hot wax?
Evolution needs to get off its hairy bum and catch up.
Whether we have kids, high powered jobs, a lot of cats, elderly relatives, or just us, we worry. About everything. In just seven seconds we can worry about whether we shut the fridge door properly and whether we’re going to die alone and ravaged by regret. Buying the right sort of peas, sending an email, looking too garish, not looking garish enough, saying something in a slightly different tone to the tone we intended to say it in, death, illness, childbirth, no childbirth, money, parents, the state of the driveway, the state of the country, chocolate, spots, public transport, other people’s eating habits, our eating habits, hips, bums, bloating, whether that picture of the Cornish coast should have gone above the mantelpiece instead of in the hall, etc etc etc etc it literally never ends.
Closely followed by worrying, is thinking. Yes, we admit it: we think too much. Blokes, I understand. I understand why you do that baffled face when we’ve said something like ‘I’ve been thinking about that thing you said the other day about needing to repaint the shed? Well, I know that you really meant I need to lose weight.’ I can’t explain the train of thought that takes us from A to B (or very often F, J, and sometimes even P), but it makes perfect sense to us.
So, men, next time you think ‘Wow, being a woman must be so great, they get all the best clothes and they’ve got smaller feet,’ think again my friends. Think again.
33 thoughts on “Becky says things about … 8 rubbish things about being a woman”
Yep. Sounds about right.
Thank GOD it’s not just me. 🙂
No way! You should’ve seen me last week, haha.
I love this post and I am not a woman nor do I want to be one. I am thankful that my monthly maintenance cost is down to toothpaste, deodorant (it lasts forever) and maybe some face lotion.
And I bet you can afford to eat. I’m nibbling on an old pencil as we speak.
Wood is high in carbohydrates! Although lead is poisonous so be careful.
lol you’re brilliant. I almost wrote about public bathrooms yesterday. You know how women pee all over the seat so you have to hover. Then some trashy woman has let her maxi pad touch the bowl and you’re trying very hard not to let your dress or pants touch it because you know. Then there is pee on the ground. So on.
I also agree on the stupid gifts. I don’t use lotion. I just don’t. I don’t like the smells other people pick out for me in candles and shower gel. I don’t want weird crafty junk. You like crafting..good for you…I don’t like it and I don’t want it.
Purses…well I love my purses.
Having your pubs pulled out by the roots, no fun at all. Even men who have been waxed don’t know. I tell them, have them pulled out on your balls.
Hurrah! Exactly! Oh, the peeing all over the seat thing is GROSS. And all because they think it’s unhygienic to sit on the thing! IT’S MORE UNHYGIENIC TO SPREAD YOUR PEE EVERYWHERE. Urgh. As for weird crafty junk – I want nothing to do with it. (P.S. Thanks for reading!)
Anytime. I always like to find other satire/humor writers that are women and support them. I am going to follow you. 🙂
Oh Becky, I think every woman can agree and enjoy this post. This was brilliant/hilarious. (But I’m sorry about your bad day. 😦 ) Sometimes I find myself feeling bad for men because their clothes/shoe options are much less diverse and boring, but screw them, we suffer a million times more! We deserve better clothes and shoes.
So true. Suffering is our way of life. Even if we do look amazing 🙂
Amazing! Love your blog, Becky.
Thank you! 🙂
This was freakin’ hilarious. I actually LOL when you were talking about Hormones and money…You are funny girl. You’ve sold me…I’m a follower now…Great job!!!
Thank you! Very kind of you. I suppose even though we are cursed with these things we must laugh about them. Or else we’d just cry. Cry and cry and cry and cry. 🙂
I’m sorry. I know we make it hard on you. Especially the thinking part. We fellas (or blokes, as it were) never do enough of that. My sincere apologies 🙂
Unfortunately, I think we make it hard on ourselves…
The hormones, the carrots…that’s me. Very funny and spot on. Enjoy your blog 🙂
I’m just relieved it’s not all just me! Thank you for reading!
I love the cartoons, especially number 8. And your explanation in number 4 should be enough to justify equal pay — at least.
Great post, Becky.
Haha, thank you!
I sent this to my fella, as part of an apology for being a hormonal wretch two weeks ago. We both thank you.
Hurrah! You are most welcome. If you need any other written apologies for anything – eating the last biscuit, farting, murder, anything – let me know. 🙂
And where do you women learn how to nag?! My God, “Do this, do that, have you done this yet? When are you going to do it? Well you said five minutes ago that it was going to be done”
And you think being a man is so easy 😛
I sympathize with the monthly jam rags though, I don’t know if I could put up with that, I’d probably get my innards scooped out.
Jam rags. I’ve never heard that. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I think I like it. I might use it. So thanks.
And if you lot did what we asked when we asked you to do it, WE WOULDN’T HAVE TO NAG, goddammit.
You are welcome to, it usually divides women, those that go “Ugh that’s disgusting” and those that go “Haha Jam rags, you so crazy.”
And you know us men, we like to procrastinate, at this point it should be expected that we’re too busy. 😛
I prefer a fuck-off bottle of vodka.
As long as it’s a fuck-off bottle of something, I’m not fussy 🙂
Thank you so much for linking to my blog! 🙂
Well bst, you could remove points 4 and 6 by following this lady’s example http://vagendamag.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/hair-not-musical.html but it might lead to more of point 7…thanks for this….how I laughed on the way to the gin cupboard as I fought my way through the scented candles 😉
Just DIED laughing! Haha the last one just killed me!
Well I’m glad to see that you clearly empathise with me! 😉
Thanks for reading that post, it was one of my favourites to write 😉