I bookmarked this How to be a Happy Woman
post a while ago (which I found through Sheila
) and forgot to blog about. Reading this post
at Sheila's this morning made me remember the happy woman thing, if for no other reason than I'm often mystified by women who think chocolate can bring happiness or by men who think a good orgasm is all a woman needs to get by. Or that they need a book
to guide them in that endeavor.
I like Right Thinking Girl, the author of the Happy Woman list, I really do. But I am going to have to beg to differ with her on a good portion of her list.
For instance, #7 calls for baking a wedding cake from scratch. I have to ask, why?
Doing such a thing would only result in the further deterioration of my ego, when it becomes blindingly clear that I should never, ever be allowed to wield a measuring cup and flour, lest they become lethal weapons. And what of single women? What gal would want to spend hours slaving over something that would remind her of how god awful alone she is?
I'll pass on the handbag (#12) thing also. My handbags are straight from Target or Payless, $10 pieces of crap that will probably fall apart under the weight of my massive set of keys within months. The bottom of my bags usually turn into a potpourri of sticky gum, tobacco, half eaten cough drops and pennies that are slimed in a foreign substance. I'm not about to spend roughly $2000 on a bag that will eventually turn into a home for wayward receipts when that $2000 can be used to
feed the homeless
keep my family in food for a couple of months. In fact, I question the sanity of a woman who spends the equivalent of a mortgage payment on a contraption used to hold her tampons and cell phone.
I think all the above can be said for #36, which calls for love of jewelry. Am I the only woman who would rather get an Xbox than a tennis bracelet as a gift?
Well, that point sort of makes going through the rest of the list useless, as it is apparent that no two women are alike. We are all our own little snowflakes, unique individuals, etc., etc., which is why a book like She Comes First
is completely useless. The review is great.
The book, we could all live without.
Why do men - and some women- believe in the naive notion that there is, somewhere, the ultimate guide or instruction manual that will teach men the world over how to really, really please a woman - any woman? Too many men live their whole lives thinking - thanks to magazine articles and books - that the greatest gift you can give a woman is an orgasm. I have news for all of you suffering from that delusion. I - or for that matter, my shower head - can give myself that gift with far greater precision, accuracy and breathtaking results than you could ever hope to. It's just the way it is.
"Try licking her the way Pollock painted." That's an actual line from She Comes First.
"When she comes first, she comes forever." Yes, that, too. Which is not necessarily true. I know some women who will, like a lot of men, roll over and die when they're done.
Listen, I'm not trying to be crude or overtly shocking here, but I think I owe it to the free male world to let men know that not every woman really enjoys the receiving end of oral sex. Not every woman will scream in pleasure when you try some Olympic-feat maneuver that was diagrammed in the latest issue of Ask Men. Instead of spending hours in the bathroom reading up on the latest techniques that call for you to "Think Outside Her Box," try something really innovative: ask your woman what she likes. Because let me tell you, the surprise that comes when a guy tries to reach places that were not meant to be seen without an ultrasound will not always result in moans of distinct pleasure. And trying to engage in sexual intimacy while recalling a black and white, notated diagram in your head can really damper your motions and the mood, especially when you suddenly blurt out "Slot B in Slot C!"
Which leads me back to the "every woman is different" thing. Taking into account the Happy Woman
and the "She Comes First" aspects, I'm starting to think that maybe it's just me.
Where did my mother go wrong? How did I end up eschewing the jewelery, chocolate, perfume and candles scenario? How did my female idea of sex get so warped to lead me to this place, where I would much rather give than receive? Perhaps my mother was onto something when she spent nine months thinking that I was going to be a boy named Michael. Years of therapy might be able to explain why my perfect date would consist of Taco Bell, Guinness and a few romantic hours mashing video game controllers playing Street Fighter
, wrapped up with a session of me-on-top, controlling, domineering sex.
Maybe I need to just find some like minded women; females who, like their male counterparts who have discovered their inner femininity, have an inner masculinity that they are not ashamed to show. Women who have no desire to bake a wedding cake from scratch or sell a kidney for a Kate Spade handbag. Women who would rather watch Last Boy Scout
than be subjected to another Meg Ryan saccharine fest.
I think I need to have my hormone balance checked.