Penis envy is a fallacy. (Or should I have said phallacy?)
I don't hit this subject in an effort at being crass; it just occurred to me the other day that anyone who has been deceived into believing that women are dying for something dangling between their legs is quite mad.
We're proud that we don't need an extra appendage to feel and be powerful in a boardroom. We've no desire to name or refer to in the third person a part of our bodies. We're quite pleased that if we do something we did it and can't lamely blame it on our smaller selves. We're glad that we don't have a bit of body that incites us to look both ways before scratching and adjusting public. We appreciate that we weren't fitted with something we need to constantly reassure ourselves is still there. We couldn't be happier that when we worry about size it has nothing to do with our below-the-belt organ.
Dear Powers that Be, thank you eversomuch for making me the upgraded version--the one with plumbing inside.
Sure, we Upgraded Versions come with our distasteful and unpleasant issues. But at least we don't have an appendage that we're so desperate to safeguard that we have to don a piece of bulletproof polycarbonate to shield it when playing sports.
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7 comments:
Amen--even during the seven days of the month I hate being a woman--I am still SO glad I am NOT a man!
YES! For us, public restrooms are not quite so public and I appreciate that part of being a woman.
Whatever, Megan, you love being crass. Don't even make excuses. But seriously, who the hell would want to be a man?
I agree with you... 'cept the part about looking both ways before scratching oneself. I do that. (Look both ways AND scratch).
I'm happy we get to share crassness.
Not crass, children. Crass is different. Edgy, maybe. Obnoxious, perhaps. Shocking, sometimes. But crass really isn't my thing.
Maybe I would trade places with Ethan for just a day. We could both see what's so great about the other. But I don't want Ethan's feet. Those are some funny lookin' sons of bitches.
Tru dat sister.
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