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all over but the shoutin' cryin'
Being a woman is a tough gig, if I say so myself. To begin with there's this hormone thing that dogs us from about the age of 10 'til we morph into old ladies who wear purple hats and play bridge and say any damn thing that comes to mind..and get AWAY with it! I wouldn't know the "monthly visitor" if it came gift wrapped with a personalized card telling me to bleed, because I am past all that. Except for the hot flashes and "moose wings" of the past five years, it's all good. Until I start to feel overwhelmed and cry. Dammit..I hate that. What.a.wuss.

Big Ernie and my Mama blessed(?) me with overactive tear ducts and a heart as big as Texas. I remember wishing more than once that I could just be one of those folks who doesn't give a shit. It's easier that way, ya know? You're out for yourself and to hell with the rest of 'em. "Let them eat cake." Until the revolution starts, you're in high cotton and living like a pimp on payday.

What I'm thinking is that I need a few shots of testosterone so I can grow some balls and not be quite so weak when it comes to letting the little things drag me down. It looks easier to be a man from my point of view. Anatomical differences aside, they just think differently. You ever known a guy out doing what he loves best worrying about what's happening in the other half of his life..the one where there's a woman fussin' and fretting over every little detail? Nah. They just scratch and fart and hunt and fish and golf and generally enjoy being the eternal little boy while she wallows in the angst of being female. Sucks to be her.

Since SugarDaddy has failed to claim me and Prince Charming is a fairy tale figure, I've decided that I should adopt a strong female role model as my mentor during the post-menopausal-pre-golden years.

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