Doubleyou-oh-em-ay-en. Beeyatches rawk!

I’d love to be a woman. There. I’ve said it. *What a release!* Women are cool. Yaaaaay women! Call me your male cheerleader. I’m hoping that I get to be invited to join the sorority someday. You know- in the same way that middle-aged rockstars get asked to receive honorary doctorates from the universities in their home towns, for no better reason than some column inches in the local freesheet.

I can be a feminist, can’t I? Compare, briefly, if you will:
Would you rather: get to chat to all your friends in the public loos at the mall, or
Be cottaged (ref: George Michael/al fresco urinals) by complete strangers?
Talk about the gameplays in the latest tournament of whatever whogivesastuff sport using limited vocabulary, or use your own invented words?
On that note: It irks me that, as a man, I can’t use words like ‘Meh’, Wah’ or ‘Mwah’- which is oddly not a combination of both. Very envious about that.
So, to continue: Dads get to do horsey rides, make body noise jokes and impress by making fires, but Moms get to form lifelong bonds which reach down to a child’s inner core, and somehow involving breasts to achieve that. My breasts are strictly decorative.
Women get to bond on a visceral level- it may have something to do with the trials of menses, but maybe not- Men aren’t invited to discuss that. Men bond on beer and, well, more beer.

I don’t want to actually want to wear women’s clothes, however, just have the fringe benefits…

Women Rock!

An Aside:
My virtual buddy Blaine asked me to do a guest post on his satirical co-operative blog, Diary of Fools. He wanted me to introduce the world at large to the vomitorium that is South African politics. In particular the recent elections. I agreed, greedy for attention. Then, as the days wore on, realized I was incapable of writing about a government which is self-satirizing. It would involve some research, which would involve frustration to the point of firing a small handgun into the monitor and burying it in the garden. My government. They claim that crime, AIDS and xenophobia don’t exist. The only laugh that produces in me is the sort that you get when you are burying a family member, and you irrationally think of the way they used to fart after meals.

My public apology, Blaine, for not following through.