Don’t blame men because you shave your legs

Posted on August 15, 2010

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I received an email forward from a friend and former co-worker that got me thinking about women’s deflection tendencies. The email is a list of why men are never depressed. At least half, maybe more, of the bullet points are actually ways in which we make ourselves depressed, but acknowledging that would put the responsibility back on me and I’ve got a cut and color at 3 o’clock and a wedding to plan all by my lonesome, leaving no room to tend to my own happiness. (Mind you, the friend who sent this, Michelle, is quite a cool, independent chick with a better sense of humor than someone like me who over-thinks things like email forwards.) Take a look. The italics are me.

WHY MEN ARE NEVER DEPRESSED:

Men Are Just Happier People — What do you expect from such simple creatures?

• His last name stays put.
— So did mine. And yours would have, too, if you hadn’t changed it.

• The garage is all his.
— Probably because you haven’t declared that you need to share that space. No room for two? Save up and build your own dang lady cave.

• Wedding plans take care of themselves.
— Planning a wedding is no fun and I wasn’t any more stoked about planning our wedding than Brian was. After a year of engagement I informed him that we simply were never going to get married if I had to plan the thing alone. Brian ended up planning at least half of it and did a great job.

• Chocolate is just another snack.
— Eat the chocolate, sweetie. I guarantee you it’s not him scrutinizing your extra roll of cush you’ve got underneath that trapeze top.

• He can be president.
— I also guarantee you that every time a woman has been up for the position, a deciding factor of women voters chose the male candidate. Check your own prejudices before blaming this one on the guys in this modern era.

• He can wear a white T-shirt to a water park.
— So can you. What are you doing wearing a frilly bra to a (I take it they mean) amusement park, anyway? Throw a sports bra on under that white tee and go have, oh you know, fun.

• Car mechanics tell him the truth.
— Car mechanics only lie when it’s obvious the customer has no clue about this really big, expensive thing she owns and is dependent on men to tell her things about. Don’t know anything about cars? Ask your boyfriend to show you a few things. Ask your dad. Ask your cousin. Ask Google. Ask Auto Repair for Dummies. It’s the exact same way men come to know about cars and not get lied to.

• The world is his urinal.
— I guess the world could be your urinal, too, if you dropped your drawers and popped a squat. We don’t have the same external plumbing but we can pee in non-orthodox places if we have to. The men I know don’t pee in the bushes just to crack themselves up; they have to go, and there isn’t a reasonable alternative within driving or walking distance. Don’t blame them because you’d rather risk a UTI.

• He never has to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.
— I’m pretty sure I’ve done this before. And yes, it would have been because the men before me made the whole room their urinal, not just the toilet, and yes, that’s gross. If traveling to the next gas station is not an option, just line the seat with toilet paper/hover, pee and get out of there. You’re taking a bio break, not attending a spa appointment.

• He doesn’t have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.
— Lefty-loosey, righty-tighty. I got that from a former boyfriend, because I asked.

• Same work, more pay.
— No one’s going to ride in on a white horse and pay you more money.
— Find out what someone with your experience in your position in your geographic area should be making. Raise hell until you get it.
— Stop being a sweetie-pie at work, during interviews and during annual reviews.
— Millions of women before you have already done the hard work of making equal work/equal pay possible. You spit in their face when you struggle internally with a success fraud complex then passive-aggressively blame The Man for paying you unequally.
— Still having trouble with this? One of the reasons this country is great is we are a nation of laws. We have a court system. Use it.

• Wedding dress $5000. Tux rental-$100.
— Brian’s tux rental costs $150, my wedding dress cost $79 (Target Bridal) and and I have to say, I looked pretty darn cute. I got a hug from a friend who accidentally got lipstick on my dress. She freaked out; I just laughed and ate cake. Your wedding dress only costs $5,000 because you apparently insisted on having a $5K wedding dress. That’s not your man’s fault.

• People never stare at his chest when they’re talking to him.
— Do you embarrass the jack-A who does this to you by calling him out, or do you sheepishly continue talking, hoping he magically becomes a gentleman before the conversation’s over? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

• He can never be pregnant.
— Don’t want to become pregnant? Neither do I, so let’s don’t. Don’t want to become pregnant but want children? There’s a process called adoption.

• Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
— This is only a problem if you don’t like long phone conversations yet find yourselves constantly entangled in them. Again, AT&T’s not going to ride in on a white horse and magically drop the call for you.

• One mood all the time.
— Ok, I’ll give you that one.

• He can open all his own jars.
— What, if there’s no man around, the jar of pasta sauce simply isn’t going to get opened? Lame. Whack at the side of the lid with the back of a butcher knife, get one of those rubber jar-opener dillies and. open. the. dang. jar.

• He gets extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
— Because instead of credit, you keep giving him extra credit, driving home the message that he’s going above and beyond his duties as a human being. I guarantee it’s not his buddies cooing and clapping when he changes his own baby’s diaper or when he picks up his underwear.

• If someone forgets to invite him, they can still be friends.
— Are you that petty or just not grown up yet? Don’t flay him for not bringing the wine to your petty-party just because you haven’t learned how to keep friends yet.

• His underwear is $8.95 for a three-pack.
— Girl, please. A 6-pack of Hanes Her Way string bikinis cost $8 at most. Trust me, if you’re taking your clothes off in his line of sight, he’s not going to care nor will he notice if you spent half a paycheck on something more expensive than that. If the underwear is just for you, 100 percent cotton is much, much nicer to your lady parts, anyway.

• He almost never has strap problems in public.
— Are we still worrying about this? I thought, along with pantyhose, we stopped obsessing whether or not it’s “snowing up north” around 15 years ago.

• He can play with toys all his life.
— And you’re not able to play with toys because …??

• One wallet and one pair of shoes — one color for all seasons.
• Wrinkles add character.
• He only has to shave his face and neck.
• He is unable to see wrinkles in his clothes.
• Everything on his face stays its original color.
• The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.
• Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.
• A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
• New shoes don’t cut, blister, or mangle his feet. …

My response to anything related to modern American beauty standards: These are ALL the fault of women, not men. These are the standards we’ve created because we keep trying to outdo each other for the attention of men, plain and simple. When we ran out of ideas on how to distinguish ourselves, the plastic surgery industry was invented. These time-consuming, expensive and often-painful standards won’t stop until
we stop. But it’s like nuclear disarmament — we don’t want to disarm until and unless we’re absolutely positive everyone else is going to disarm, lest we get caught with armpit stubble and bare toenails while the inspectors overlooked another woman’s secret stash of concealer and highlight foils. So if you’re going to play these games, play and stop whining or go rogue and rock that unibrow.

— I don’t wear shoes that mangle my feet anymore — I’m either going to pay for the good stuff or wear flats, running shoes or flip-flops. No one is hiding in my closet with a shoe horn ready to force a ridiculous pair of shoes on me.
— We are the ones who insist on painting our faces like some daily indigenous tribal ceremony and shaving/lasering ourselves into hairless oblivion. Sometimes I lament to Brian that my legs are sooo hairy, I’m too disgusting to go into public like this with you, I’m sorry my legs are covered by the Black Forest, etc. He’ll feel a leg, get a confused look on his face and grunt something of a “meh” that I translate as, “Sister, that’s your own neurosis; don’t look at me like it’s my fault you regularly eradicate 80 percent of the hair on your person in a desperate attempt to infanticize yourself.”
— Wonder how men seem to have more money than women? It’s not because they’re making vastly more money than you, although if you’re a meek little mouse come pay-raise time, that probably contributes. It’s because you’re alloting so much more of your paycheck to all those clothes and all those shoes and all that hair color and all those creams and serums that, by the way, is what’s making you pack so heavily, too.

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I wear makeup, shave my legs (which I hate, but I’m the one swiping the razor up and down) and I keep Clairol’s Natural Instincts in business. If these things are as much of an annoyance as we claim, let’s place the blame for performing them where it belongs, the chica in the mirror. Accept responsibility for what you make of your life, because that’s partly what equality is about.

I love all my ladies and desire the best for each and every one of you! Go forth and conquer your corner of the world! Mwah!!

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