Being a woman is hard. We can parade around in overalls and headscarves chanting anti-testosterone bullshit all we want but the reality is that we are biologically hardwired to struggle more than men.
Germaine Greer, if you’re reading this, please let me explain before you start throwing things at me. I agree that women can be physically stronger, taller, fitter and smarter than men. We can run our own businesses, buy cars without a man’s help and fix the dripping tap in the bathroom without having to call a plumber but in the end, the oestrogen is our major downfall.
I haven’t done the research, but I’m pretty sure the only reason women fought so hard to join the workforce was because staying at home watching daytime television left us in constant danger of drowning in our own tears every time an advertisement with a talking puppy tried to convince us to buy a different brand of washing powder.
Unfortunately, while women have evolved to be arguably the more superior sex, we still haven’t quite worked out how to turn off the hormones and get stuck facing challenges like these on an everyday basis:
Tearing apart your wardrobe in a hormone driven rage because you can’t find anything to wear that doesn’t make you look too fat/thin/tall/short/smart/dumb/etc. Guys don’t get it. You just throw on jeans and the closest t-shirt that doesn’t smell like feet and you’re good to go. Shoes and underwear are apparently optional. Our underwear have to match, fit perfectly, give support and sit invisibly under out clothing or risk looking like one of those old women who have given up hope of ever looking good again.
The genuine fear that every stitch or bout of the hiccoughs is potentially fatal. Hypochondria is not a joke. It’s an illness as real as the aneurysm we diagnose ourselves with every time we get a headache. Panadol doesn’t cut it in times like those- we need brain surgery and we need Doctor McDreamy to do it. Stat!
Crying while watching life insurance advertisements on several occasions and not just because of the terrible acting. That old couple enjoys playing tennis and walking on the beach at sunset? Holy shit. I enjoy playing tennis and walking on the beach at sunset! I might as well be old and old is nearly dead and BAM! Cue waterworks.
Ads where the toddlers talk. I don’t even like using fabric softener but that little ginger-haired kid with a lisp was so damned cute I bought a bottle of it even though it just sits in my cupboard. Well played, Cuddly Soft… well played.
Brooke and Ridge just had another fight. Seriously, you know they’re perfect for each other, every woman in the world knows they’re perfect for each other and yet they still leave you heartbroken after 26 years. We wish we didn’t care, but secretly we all do.
You honestly feel that every attractive woman you walk past is out to get you- because you are the most important person in the world obviously, and everybody’s life revolves around you.
All we want is chocolate, but chocolate makes us fat. So does the bread we really want to eat, the cheese we love, the beer we drink but fuck it, we’re going to eat it anyway and then blame the closest man for letting us do it. Why? Why the hell not.
Disney films. Women don’t grow out of Disney films. Ever. We’re all searching for a Prince of our own and even if we find him, we’re searching for a talking fish or a pet unicorn.
Every other film. Since we’re on the topic of cinema I should probably admit that women will cry during just about anything. I cried watching Die Hard because just for a minute there it looked like Bruce Willis wasn’t going to save his wife at the end. And also a little bit because Bruce Willis is amazing and women are constantly forming irrational emotional connections to celebrities.
Sobbing uncontrollably when you see small animals. Don’t judge. Just bring tissues and appreciate how cute this duck is with me.
So men can laugh and roll their eyes when the nostalgia-induced tears from a Backstreet Boys song interrupt our train of thought, but they should consider themselves lucky. They have been blessed with testosterone and can thus enjoy a stable, emotional-breakdown free existence while we, the unfortunately fairer sex, are busily typing symptoms of our stubbed toe into Google to prove we have gout.
– by Blaire Gillies