Being the only female in a house full of males was never part of the master plan. Well, not that there ever really was a master plan in the first place- but I had IDEAS! DREAMS! And being surrounded by peen was not one of them- not even at my boy craziest fangirl obsessive times.
It took a couple of years and two pregnancies to figure out that there was just no way around it. I guess it’s just fate to never shoot vaginas out of my vagina (and I have no plans to try again any time soon if ever to see if the coin lands on the hotdog or hamburger side) and to instead rule as Queen of the hive. Isn’t there only one female in a hie of bees? Well, whatever- let’s pretend either way. QUEEN BEE! That’s me!
I didn’t intend for that to rhyme, but I’m going with it.
Even when I tried to break up the overwhelming amount-o-peen in this house by getting a female dog to help when I began to feel overwhelmed or like the peen was the Borg and trying to assimilate me and I had to check downstairs to make sure there was no unusual growth happening… SOMEHOW I still managed to bring home another little boy.
What the?? Maybe Borg-Peen was right- resistance is futile.
Now that I have accepted my fate as the Lone Ranger- I suppose I could use it to my advantage. When you are the only member of a certain gender residing in a home, you tend to notice a lot more of the nasty disgusting and vile shit they do because you have to put up with an overwhelming amount of it. All the time.
I won’t say things of the vagina-y nature aren’t gross- but considering the fact that I don’t own a penis or testicles and don’t let the fart fly from my ass while sitting around the dinner table- I tend to notice habits of the opposite gender all the time.
I wish I didn’t… but I do. And I could complain about EVERY single one of them and rightfully so!
I could bitch and moan about the toilet seat never being down and that the rim is constantly disgusting and I KNOW that shit ain’t from me- and I have before, but for some reason I rarely bring it up anymore. Oh, I could definitely make a huge stink about dirty boy underwear being left all over the house. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want ANYONE else handling my unders and I make sure to put the dirty ones in a place that the whole world can’t see them. Even with the skid marks and remnants of shart stains and whatever foul odor is emanating from them- they are still left on the floor for me to pick up and put in the dirty clothes hamper. Which is usually only a few feet away. MAN what a fit I could throw over that!
And then there’s the booger picking and subsequent eating. I mean sure, I pick my nose- who DOESN’T? But I don’t linger or go spelunking for buried green treasure the way boys do. I also don’t bite my toenails OR wipe my butt and then sniff the paper. Fucking EW.
No, I don’t do those things- and we ladies are kinda gross… but I would imagine those things are dominantly DUDE things to do.
But I don’t complain about this nastiness that often. Why? WHY?!?!
Why don’t I go completely batshit crazy and start breaking dishes against walls and then go on some kind of strike like other fed up moms, build myself a tree fort in the front yard and hang up a giant sign about how I just can’t take it anymore, catching the attention of the local news, and refuse to come back down and wash a single dish or make a single sammich until things change?
Do you want the TRUTH?
There is only one thing I really want to complain about. ONE SIMPLE THING. One thing that pisses me off more than anything else in this house of horrors…. and I can’t.
I can’t because, well… the truth is that it’s probably MY fault.
I am the only female in this house.
I am the only female in this house which means I am the only one who wipes when I go pee.
I am the only female in this house which means I am the only one who wipes when I go pee which means I am using the most toilet paper.
I am the only female in this house which means I am the only one who wipes when I go pee which means I am using the most toilet paper which means when it runs out and I’m stuck on the pot cursing about how there is no paper, and there ends up being no paper in the ENTIRE rest of the house- it doesn’t matter who was the last one to use it. It doesn’t matter if no one bothered to replace it- ’cause I pee three times as much as anyone else poos.
There is nothing I want to bitch at them more than using the last of the toilet paper and leaving me to wipe my hoo-ha with the nearest towel or screaming for a shard of paper towel, and on those HORRID occasions- with the empty roll and then shoving it to the bottom of the trashcan so no one finds out my shameful secret- but I CAN’T, because when the house runs out of TP, it’s because I used it all dabbing up my pee in the first place.
Being a chick is tough, man. We get bleeding nethers every single month, cramps, achy boobs, have to tear ourselves to pieces, worry about headlights being turned on or toes looking like camels; wrinkles make us look haggy instead of “distinguished”… I mean, f’real- it must be nice not to have to deal with ANY of that and instead be able to drip dry!
If it weren’t for the whole “carried my kids inside of me and forced new amazing life unto this planet” thing, I’d totally let the Peen-Borg assimilate me.
And get your friggin’ head out of the gutter!
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