In Limbo

What is it that I really hate about being a woman? Is it the boobs? No, I love them. I also love the buns and the cellulite excesses. At least I do today. No! The fury behind my bête noire is (the terribly clichéd) sexual inequality. And I'm not talking just about equal opportunities to education and exposure

Lurking in some culpable pit of my subconscience is the luxury of being brought up with all the 'privileges' of a boy. Yes, I had an ample education and am still free to go on having it. My mind has been expanding over space and time, over gender and age, over status and stature. I speak out. I assert myself. And I don't feel guilty about tripping over my third foot. We’re the faltering bipeds moulded in the flawless image of Yahweh. But no! This feminine portrayal is totally unconceivable. She’s had too much to drink, they say.

You’re not wrong, you know. I have had too much. I’ve been drinking off life since I came into being. Drinking off life can give you a high. And it’s safer and lasts longer than any other variety. If I was a man, however, I wouldn’t cause a stir. Well sure, I’d cause a stir among the women with good taste, but that’s where it would end. They wouldn’t be throwing me curious looks as if to say: is she always that way?

When a man is drunk on life, he tells a joke, he thumps his comrades on their backs; he brings home a live bison for dinner. And the rest of the world celebrates and tinkle their flutes in approval. A woman with a similar disposition laughs volubly; she looks into the eyes of everyone she speaks to, and throws her head back with a tilt and does not care if she looks like Charlize Theron in Monster. And the rest of the world aggregates into little clusters and discusses her menstrual cycles and any viagraisms she might be onto.

I fail to understand the disparity. Yes, there’s Mars and Venus, and there’s Vulvae and Penis, but where the f***ing justification for sexual prejudice?