I hate the moments when I realize that why yes, in fact I am a girl.
…like when I can’t open a pickle jar without one of those old lady finger pad thingies…or when I realize that I have no clue how to properly use lighter fluid…OR when I look down at my legs and I don’t see a penis dangling in between my hairy legs….
Side note: Dude, if I had a penis…I’d play with that shit all day long. I’d jerk it…do card tricks with it…turn it into a lasso, and try to…um…lasso shit…hit people with it (in a nonsexual manner of course.) Oh god…the list just goes on forever.
Any who…I’m a pretty independent person…and I intend to keep it that way…so when these little nuances…like not having a penis…or upper body strength…pop up…this bitch gets pissed.
And I know I could probably fix this situation, by doing a couple of push-ups…and reading directions.
But where is the fun in that? There isn’t any. It’s fucking work. I don’t like work.
It’s a catch-22 really. I want to stay independent….but I'm cute so don’t want to do any of the work.
Look, I’m good at three things…writing…straightening my hair…creating perfectly timed black jokes….you don’t need upper body strength for these skills…unless the black joke goes awry.
I’m okay with that.
I know some of you feminists out there are not. You guys annoy me anyways…so I don’t really care if
I piss that lot off.
So all in all…even though I'm annoyingly pissed off about that fact that I’m a girl, I have to admit that there will be moments where I can’t be a 100% independent, which made me realize a huge flaw in this logic. What if I was just dependent on someone (Matthew) for a change? What’s the harm in that shit?
It’s a win-win really. I don’t have to do any of the work…and I get to lie around half naked while someone tells me I'm pretty while still calling myself independent.
Did I just grow up a little?
Whatever, I’m pretty. Don’t contradict me.