Men, please stop thinking of us in the following ways. Now.
We are angry because of our monthly period.
Please explain how, even though my menstruation has yet to arrive, I am very, very angry because of your alternative fact.
We are bad drivers.
I still remember the look of terror on Clueless Suitor’s face whenever he saw me behind the wheel. It hurt my heart. Yes, I ran over the garbage can—one time!—during the early stages of learning how to drive, but I have, with the help of a very patient female BFF, mastered the art of driving around town with a standard transmission and also parallel parking, as well parking in reverse. Clueless Suitor can’t even do that.
We love to wallow in sadness.
On the full moon of each month, I sometimes give my cook the day off, order a box of pizza, and drink lots of wine while watching a movie all by myself. After bawling my eyes out over that scene in The Way We Were (when Katie tells Hubbell to bring his “lovely girl” for a drink and he says, “I can’t,” and she says, “I know”), I then proceed to beat my fists over my bosom to reopen the wounds of my broken heart. And then I let loose a frightful scream into the night air. Ayiyiyiyiyiyi!
Yes, yes, I will be the first to say that I sometimes indulge in such things (no screaming though because loud noises are frowned upon in my village). Just last weekend, I went to the movies with my family and bawled my eyes out over... Logan. You know, the superhero flick starring that tall Australian fellow who can sing? The swashbuckling bits were superb, the little kid was a dynamo, and that ending was heartbreaking. My nephews cried, too.
We only eat salads.
Please don’t mention this to Toothy Tess because she will be offended that you think her a rabbit. Toothy hates it when men assume that she will only finish half a serving of the organic field greens at Grace Park. Toothy wants the roast baby lamb and a side of muscovado beef belly. And, yes, Toothy will have room for the mascarpone gelato. Why do you even ask?
We can’t be friends with each other.
In certain circumstances, I can’t deny that quick-witted women will artfully deploy shade. Example: When Barbara Walters asked the trouser-loving Katharine Hepburn if she had ever worn a skirt, the actress replied: “I have one. I’ll wear it to your funeral.” Yikes. But for every barb such as this, there are many and even more examples of plain old love for each other. Just look at the female friendships of Power BFFs Oprah and Gayle King, actress BFFs Michelle Williams and Busy Philips, Funny BFFs Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, or the Noisy Office Pals who are always giggling two rows down from yours. If you’re still not convinced about the power of female friendships, consider this quote from novelist Sylvia Plath: “There is nothing like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.” Sirs, have you ever done this with your hair and other men?
Finally: We need a man to be complete!/ Our one and true dream is to be get married!/ All we want is to have your babies!/ Also, we will cook for you!/ Please take us now!
Girlhood dreams may have conditioned us to look for the dashing prince who will save us and then give us Happily Ever Afters. But as we grew up, we learned that the prince will never come or the prince will break our hearts or the prince is some sort of miser who will bug out when he sees us eat more than a salad.
A woman may not feel the need to get married, and that is perfectly fine. A woman may not want to have children, and that is also fine. A woman can become anything through her own power: The president. The teacher. The beauty queen. The mother.
I'm not saying we are shunning all men to build The Utopian World of Amazons (though very appealing, we also like to cuddle), but we’re not waiting by the wishing well “for the one I love to find me” anymore. We are going out into the world—driving, eating, crying, screaming—to look for whatever the hell we want. That may mean finding the one we love, too. And if you are lucky, that might be you.
Do you want to ask our resident TRL anything? E-mail C.C. Coo at [email protected].