If I Were A Boy…

Too many times to count I’ve thought to myself “I wonder what it would be like to have a penis for a day. No, a week. Make that a week. How much damage could I cause in a week if only I had a penis?” Hi, I’m Emma and I’m a thinker.

But, really. If I had a dime for every time I heard a dude say, “If I had boobs, I’d play with them all day,” I’d be FILTHY rich and boys need to know we think the same thing, except about having a weiner. It’s so bizarre to think that I will never know what it’s like to have that unless I pull a Chaz Bono on myself, but I think I’ve given my mom enough mental heart attacks that she doesn’t need any more surprises from me. Family first, y’all.

Besides the physical differences between men and women, I have also seriously pondered the vast distinctions between the sexes when it comes to how we process things, how we operate on a day-to-day basis and our overall attitude about life. I’ve had a legitimate Beyonce moment and wondered….

If I were a boy, would life be better?

And I’m not talking “better” in the sense of being promoted or gaining more respect in the workforce – I’m talking emotionality-wise. How would it feel not to cry at the ruffling of paper for an entire week every month? How would it feel to be able to tell your friends to fuck off if they were being assholes and not get in a 5-day standoff about it? How would it feel to be able to throw on a sports jersey and jeans and be ready for a night out?

Let’s break it down, shall we?

Being “bigger” doesn’t matter. How many big boys do you see with hot pieces of tail on their arm? When a dude has a jolly belly, it’s overlooked for their personality and probably some fuggin’ great facial hair. Being spooned by a protruding beer belly and wrapped up in gargantuan thighs makes a gal all warm and tingly inside – not to mention makes her feel like a regular 00 supermodel. I actually PREFER when dudes have meat on their bones so I know my jiggle-party is not a depressing party of one. Jiggling together is better than jiggling alone.

Boys can eat whatever the hell they want and don’t want to off themselves when they realize what they’ve devoured. This goes hand-in-hand with the whole notion of boys being “allowed” to be bigger specimen. This is also why girlfriends end up gaining weight the deeper and deeper they crawl into the relationship hole. “Oh, he wants to order pizza? I mean, I don’t want to deny him of his wants. I guess I’ll have to eat some, too.” “Wings and beer on Sundays is like our ritual, you guys. It’s our cute little tradition that makes me less cuter naked.” “We’re a couple and we breathe so we might as well make some pasta.” Yes, I eat queso and sit around with my pants undone but in private. With good friends. Out of the public light. Boys? Nah. Boys grab their weenuses and eat queso like beasts for everyone to see and are PROUD.

Pimples or odd skin issues in general? NO PROBLEM. Ya know why? Cause there isn’t much they can do about it anyway. Boys aren’t expected to have complexions that resemble a hairless Asian’s butt. Their whiteheads often go unnoticed or are written off with the understanding that “they can’t help it.” Ladies, on the other hand, shall not have ONE blemish on their face otherwise they might as well hole up in their apartment and wait for the inevitable spinsterhood they’re life is headed toward. How DARE you overlook that microscopic zit right below your chin line that no one else can see but you! Leave! Leave now and don’t come back until you’re perfect! I should also point out that unibrows, random patches of hair growth, unkempt fingernails and toenails – all of these things are overlooked on men whereas women have to devote literal DAYS to grooming. The amount of hours, money and last glimpses of sanity that go into making sure not one hair is out of place is enough to drive us over the edge. And it does. Why do you think we’re all insane?

Boys can pee ANYWHERE. This is probably the biggest point of jealousy I have toward men. What I wouldn’t give to have a stick for a peeing device that I can just whip out wherever and relieve myself. This seemingly small advantage is one of the major reasons I’ve written off music festival forever. When you spend half of My Morning Jacket’s set waiting in line for a port-a-potty with shit-smeared walls and spot boys just standing in corners of grass inconspicuously, IT’S NOT FAIR. And, yes, girls can pop a squat if we REALLY need to but I’m not sure having pee-soaked inner thighs for the remainder of the night is really worth the risk.

Fights don’t exist unless it’s over a girl and even then, they blow over in 30 seconds flat. You know why men and women will never fully understand each other? Because women have to rehearse exactly how they’re going to confront their friend and re-read the email or text 12 times before sending it to be sure they didn’t use the wrong adjective or maybe say something that could be misconstrued to be a dig at their friend’s late aunt who worked at that small boutique in Maryland who she never had that close of a relationship with but had a weird connection to and is super sensitive about that whole thing. We read it out loud. We make our mom read it. We make our sister read it. We get 107 opinions on how it ‘comes across’ before we send it and then we sit in a pool of our anxiety poop until she responds. When men have an issue with another man, the resolution is so simple. They either fist fight, say “Hey. Dude. Stop being an asshole” or, my favorite, NOTHING. SILENCE. An understood temporary break from one another that isn’t discussed or analyzed. Distance to control their natural rage and then resolution, nonverbally with a pat on the back. Unless you’re dealing with gay men – that’s a whole other screaming, crying, backstabbing ball game that terrifies me.

Boys can turn their minds off which I’m almost certain is impossible for girls to do. The way men can so easily compartmentalize their lives makes me wanna puke in jealous disgust. If the two of you are in a fight, he can go to work and act completely normal, completing some of the best work of his career while you’re in your cube, barely focused, trembling and listening to Beach House while salty tears roll down your mascara-stained face. Long has it been a debate that women cannot reach the levels of success men can because our emotions get in the way and to that I say – YOU DON’T KNOW ME. DON’T TRY TO TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CAN’T DO! ::sobbing::

Having said all of this and listing what I think to be incredibly valid points about the upsides of being a dude, I have concluded that…

I just love shopping and dressing up too much to ever really wish for a man’s life. Thank the lard it’s not up to me to make the first move when it comes to dating and that society finds it completely acceptable and almost EXPECTS us to cry all the time, without any warning. No – I enjoy being a girl too much. But, boys – I still like you. A lot. And don’t blame you for being the way you are. I would be too if I were you. But I’m not. So with that, I say: 

When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curl,
I float as the clouds on air do,
I enjoy being a girl!