If you’ve come in search of some life-changing, mind-blowing wisdom, insight and self-help gold… then you may be a little disappointed because today I’m opting for tongue-in-cheek frivolity.
Just read over my last few articles.
Thought-provoking, challenging, confronting.
That’s okay; we need some occasional serious.
And some regular fun.
Today we’re goin’ for fun.
If you have a propensity to be somewhat precious and easily offended, or if you missed out on the humor gene.. you may wanna come back tomorrow when I explore something a little more grown-up and sensible.
So I just cut my hair.
It grows like a weed, so it gets a fortnightly trim.
Use my own clippers.
It’s a man thing.
Four minutes start to finish.
There’s something liberating about having hair that’s three millimetres (an eighth of an inch) long.
Clippering (is so a word) my hair is like my meditation.
Which doesn’t really say a whole lot for my spiritual life I guess.
Just love to feel those bad boys pressed hard up against my skull… the cold steel, the constant, single-note hum of the motor (a ‘D’ I think), the vibration through my cerebral cortex and the undeniable smell of testosterone hanging in the air… oh yes, it’s a ritual.
It reminds me that I’m a man.
A low-maintenance, high-performance, alpha-male warrior.
Or as my mother would say, an insecure, high-maintenance, dysfunctional idiot.
So not fair.
Love you Mary.
Anyway, I gotta tell ya girls, I’ve given it some serious thought and I really think that, as a gender… you’re missin’ out.
Being a bloke…. waaaay more fun.
I don’t wanna depress you or anything… but seriously, you guys (er.. girls) have so drawn the short straw with a whole buncha stuff.
Not only is it fun and convenient to have no-maintenance hair… but waddabout all those additional hours you woulda accumulated over the course of your life-time without having to fix your hair all the time?
You coulda saved years.
You coulda got that PhD.
Or another one.
And then there’s the money you woulda saved on visits to the hairdresser and on hair-care products… you’d be driving a new Porsche if it wasn’t for those time-consuming, expensive locks.
If you wanna give it a go… drop over and I’ll cut your hair personally.
We’ll take photos.
We’ll make a day of it.
I think deep down most girls have short-hair envy.
And who can blame them?
So anyway, my four-minute trim was followed by the shave, shower and shampoo.
Okay, no shampoo; don’t need it.
More hair on my legs than my head.
Maybe I should shampoo my legs?
My point is this: total Craig grooming time… eleven minutes start to finish for the whole process including hair cut and getting dressed.
Let’s see a chick do that!
I think not my female counterparts…
And that includes a pre-shower toilet stop.
Say no more.
I can hear the envy from here.
Ya gotta be hatin’ that whole sitting down thing… right?
A life-time of that’s gotta suck?
Bad luck Dudes.
So the low cost, low fuss, low-maintenance ‘being a man’ thing got me to thinkin’ that while I love girls (I mean that respectfully), I’m so glad I’m not one.
Mean that respectfully too.
I’m sure you’re all glad I’m not a woman too.
I’d make one big, ugly chick that’s for sure.
Apart from the fact that I can’t multi-task, dance or talk when the TV’s on… and I’m not pretty enough, there’s probably not a big chance I’m gonna be a woman any time soon anyway… but you know what I’m talking about.
However I will admit that, as a rule, girls smell much better than us blokes.
Except of course, for my grade five teacher; she smelled like cheese.
Gouda, I think.
On a hot day, Parmesan.
And a warm hello to you Mrs Fraser.
Hope you’re well and hope you eventually got yourself a good anti-fungal spray.
But other than a few small advantages.. being a girl kinda sucks (from over here in Boys-ville, it seems to anyway).
It’s way too much hard work.
I’ve watched… and it’s a tough gig being a female.
Much harder than being yer run-o-the-mill bloke.
I get up, clean my teeth, shave (maybe), go to the toilet vertically (jealous), shower and I’m done. Jump in the car (my-much-larger-than-necessary-and-I’ve-got-no-issues-man’s-car) and head off to work (at my very manly gym).
Yes girls, you’ve definitely drawn the short straw.
So I’ve given this considerable thought (four minutes in the shower) and I’ve come up with a a pretty solid case for being a bloke… feel free to convince me otherwise.
1. Well, we’ve covered the hair thing and our ability to perform certain skills vertically but let’s not forget our amazing ability to laugh at our own farts for eighty years.
Farts = laughter = happiness = improved emotional, mental and physical well-being.
Therefore… farts are actually therapeutic.
Didn’t know that didya girls?
See, always a lesson.. even when I’m being an idiot.
2. If you’re a male news-reader you can work until you’re a hundred years old.
(In this country anyway).
3. Childbirth; an incredible gift and privilege…. but jeeeeeeeez, that’s gotta hurt.
4. Removal of body hair… waxing schmaxing, I say. You can have that all to yerselves.
5. Menstruation and menopause; all yours.
6. When a guy gains a few pounds; people say he’s cuddly… girls don’t seem to get off so lightly.
7. If a guy is good at football, he can get paid an obscene amount to kick (or throw) a ball and to try and kill other guys. On the other hand, if a girl’s good at football… aah, not so advantageous.
8. If a guy turns up for a date in jeans and a cap, he’s cool.
If a girl does, she’s a slob.
I could go on but I don’t wanna depress you.
Or incite you.
Any more than I have.
I’ll leave you with these few questions. Feel free to answer one, all or none.
1. Who has it easier, guys or girls?
3. Has there ever been a time when you would have swapped if you could?
4. What is the best part about being a guy / girl for you?
5. Do we live in a world which is unfairly geared towards men?
6. What men don’t get about women is…. ?
7. What women don’t get about men is…. ?
Okay, I’m off to put my ample testosterone to good use on the bench press.
Then I might punch something.
And then eat a whole farm animal.
With my fingers.
And then laugh at one of my own farts.
It’s therapeutic, ya’ know.