Walking the tightrope

It’s Friday evening and one shouldn’t blog when inebriated but bugger it.

In the game of life, one of the things I really appreciate is – being a man, we seem to have got a better deal than woman, at least in a few respects;

I can count the amount of times I’ve had to queue for the loo on the fingers on Homer Simpson’s left hand.

Generally I’m pretty good at peeing standing up, except perhaps on Friday evenings.. I know that’s strictly not a man talent but I don’t have to hover my backside over the top of a public loo making sure I don’t touch it.

I actually like changing flat tyres, hard to explain why, something about getting in touch with your inner man.. or hero..

I don’t think twice about walking down a street alone and late at night

I get to be there at the kick off of pregnancy and if I’m lucky I only have to pitch up again at the final whistle.

Morning sickness. Say no more.

Stretch marks. ditto.

Minor (and major) disorders of pregnancy – all those weeks on the labour ward certainly made me glad to be a bloke.

The number of times I’ve had to buy tampons is in single digits – three – (nah, I’m not even going to try explaining that)

My urethra is ‘somewhat’ longer than any woman’s – at least I hope so ! Ergo my risk of UTI’s are next to zero.  Plus I never wet myself when I laugh. Or cough. I save a fortune on OceanSpray Cranberry juice.

I’ve never had to shave any lower than my neck – though I do know some perverts do.. and the term Brazilian Wax won’t bring tears to my eyes.. I save a fortune on hair removal treatments.

My grey hair actually looks good and I get better looking the older I get. This point ‘may’ be up for argument but it’s late at night and I’m tired.

Shoes. Cheaper. Less of. Say no more.

Haircuts. Ditto.


Nobody stares at my chest when I talk to them. (I think!)

Glass ceilings. What are they?

It’s ‘my’ choice to grow a moustache.

It would never occur to me to ask anyone does my butt look big in this.

I have never – and never never never ever will – bought a single cushion in my life. (WHY, what is the point of them?)

But of course – and to quote Sarah Connor;

“How are you supposed to know? Fucking men like you built the hydrogen bomb. Men like you thought it up. You think you’re so creative. You don’t know what it’s like to really create something; to create a life; to feel it growing inside you. All you know how to create is death… ”

So true.

(Oh and there was something about orgasms but I just can’t put my finger on it at the moment, it’s on the tip of my tongue..)

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