It occurred to me as I was carrying around one of The Friend’s husbands new packet of pants, that in general, blokes get the easy deal out of living.
Now I’m fairly certain that any male reading this will immediately start to bristle, huff and puff whilst coming up with a list of arguments in his head. Indeed, if I were to wait an hour then I could have the benefit of The Brother’s point of view too.
Seeing as I don’t have any of those things (Even the pants; I presented them to him with a flourish once we came back from buying them! He duly thanked me for them, even if it was with a slightly bemused grin on his face!) then I will proceed to list my own views here and now, with no interruptions!
We girlies understand the importance of not scaring people with our unmade faces when we walk outside our front doors. Men however, can quite happily waltz off to work without even looking in the mirror! One of The Friends and I spent a happy 15 minutes in a well-known retailer this afternoon…(I’d love it for someone to tell me why Boots is called Boots? It sells virtually everything except boots!)…and I bought my favourite makeup and a mascara I most definitely didn’t need.
Now, men don’t have this problem; I have never heard of any instances when men have over-spent on unnecessary make up items! (And all the sickeningly gorgeous women out there who don’t need or use makeup, I am of course ignoring you!)
Whatever shirt and trousers combo he decides to go with, he’ll always get to wear flat shoes. Whatever outfit I decide upon, I have a decision to make. Heels (which make me vie for attention with the Empire State Building) or flats. Now, I do occasionally miss wearing heels, so much so that I sometimes think that it’s a darned fine idea popping them on for the eve. Off I toddle to wherever I’m going, only to regret the searing pain in the balls of my feet that signify I should have ‘practiced’ wearing them round the house for a few nights beforehand.
I’ve even been known to be what I consider to be extremely smart and clever (although I did get some funny looks so maybe it just looked nutjobbish!) and wore flip-flops initially to walk the long, painful distance into town. As soon as I was settled in the bar area I swapped them for glam heels. Now, here’s the clever bit: Not wanting to carry around a flappy pair of flip-flops in my impossibly tiny and slightly useless handbag, I had come prepared with a large squiffy bag with my name and address on it!
Off I scampered to the nearest post box to post my shoes home whilst a cluster of The Friends looked on in puzzlement, not sure whether to congratulate me on a genius idea or declare I was a loopy weirdo who was past all available help!
This would all have ended very smugly for me if I hadn’t received a parcel in the post a few days later, and thinking it was something exciting made a big fuss of opening it in front of The Minions…..When my scruffy, dodgy sandals flip-flopped their way onto the table, I couldn’t really blame them for looking at me as though I had lost the plot!
Cooking Babies In Our Tummies
Now I’ve not yet been lucky enough to have any little chiefs of my own, but I’m fairly certain that the male portion of this endeavour is pretty simple and doesn’t involve pushing a watermelon through a curtain ring. Enough said on that one!
He doesn’t have to contend with ‘The Monthly Visitor’. Oh, wait, yes he does, just on the receiving end, which is entirely and most definitely NOWHERE NEAR AS BAD!!! (he he!)
This is I think, the only one where the lines blur slightly! I don’t think all of them care about their hair, but some spend longer than others on their barnets. The Brother, for instance has very similar hair to me (just once I wish he’d grow it so I could see how ridiculously mahoosive it would be!)
For all their gelling, styling and preening, the blokes of this world still don’t have to put up with the fun and games we girls do on a daily basis. Firstly, no one told me that I’d need a couple of years training just to have impressive enough muscles to cope with washing my hair…I’m sure my arms get a better workout working shampoo through my unruly tresses than ever going to any gyms.
Then there’s drying it. One of The Friends has had massive amounts of fun this week as she’s been staying in a different hotel each day with her job. Not having enough room to pack a hairdryer and a laptop in her tiny case, she made the startling sacrifice of her super dooper all singing all dancing bells and whistles entirely snazzbuckets hairdryer from home! I think it’s safe to say she’s regretted this decision, as the hotels have provided her with a succession of ever increasingly naff excuses for barnet-blowers, and her life has suffered immeasurably!
Straightening, curling, cutting, washing, conditioning, partying, holidaying, straightening again, central heating, air conditioning, dyeing, back-combing and a tad bit more straightening….Our hair puts up with a lot, and we put up with our hair!
So now I’ve finished sounding like a shampoo advert, I’m off to prod The Brother in the side of the head with a wooden spoon and tell him he’s lucky. I’ll probably get a kick in response, but again he’s assured me this is entirely affectionate and any pain I might experience is my own fault for trying to defend myself!
Fatty Blob Head