My Duty as a Female Date Wednesday, April 24, 2024 - 09:48 AM PST Topic Entertainment As a female, it is my duty to say one thing and mean another. If you should find out what I mean, I must change what I mean. Then I must use it all against you. I must play mind games. You know how it goes. I have to whine about not getting enough affection, then I must push you away for smothering. Also, there’s the good ol’ “wait and see if he calls” routine. I must complain about my body. As a female, I must always be at war. Remember, I am outnumbered. It is me versus the bathroom scale, the fatty acids, the regular coke, the friends who look better than me, the cheesecake, the mirror, the gym fees, the Hors d'oeuvres, and the commercials. I must never be content. Which brings us to our next item: I must fish for compliments. For example, if I say, “Man! I exercise all the freaking time, and this fat never goes away,” I am actually saying, “Please shower me with compliments.” I would like to hear something to the effect of, “What’re you talking about? There isn’t an ounce of fat on you! If I ever hear you complaining about your body again I’m going have a fit.” You must never know that I go to the bathroom. Well, peeing is okay. But females never do that other thing. It’s that simple. In order to preserve this truth, and so that I never expose human bodily function, I must have correct timing, i.e. with the shower on, before shower. Shower must last at least a half hour. I must be vain at all times. For the college student this means waking up Sunday morning, taking a shower, putting on fresh pajamas, applying makeup, and then going to breakfast so everyone thinks I wake up looking like this. I must throw pity parties for myself. This usually involves eating. I must talk smack about you behind your back. This only works if I am nice to your face. As a female, I must pretend to care about your problems, then after you leave, bitch about your whining. The reason I do this is because it makes me feel better about myself. Accomplishing something useful and feeling good about that is forbidden. I must whine. A lot. It’s too cold. I’m unhappy. My boobs aren’t big enough. You don’t care. I’m misunderstood. You never call. I look fat in this. Mom won’t leave me alone. Men are pigs. Get that camera out of here. I get blamed for everything. You were looking at her. My head hurts. There’s too much stress in my life. My boss is an idiot. You’re an idiot. Does she look better than me? Is that a pimple? I can’t stand this song. Et cetera. I must blame my parents for everything. In special circumstances, this can actually apply to males as well. I am irresponsible because of my childhood. I am always late because that’s how my parents were. I’m rude because dad is rude. I’m messy because of the way I was raised. I’m a bitch because that’s how mom’s example taught me to be. I can also blame everything on PMS. (This works well for any bitchiness not covered in the parents complaint.) If there’s any angst left over I can always blame you. I must complain about the exploitation and objectification of women in today’s media. But I must secretly envy their smooth skin, slender legs, and enormous paychecks. This goes back to the “say one thing and mean another” rule. I say: “I can’t believe that! Look what she’s wearing! I can’t believe she would sell her image like that! And I can’t believe they’re portraying women as toys!” I mean: “Damn. How come I can’t look like her?” I must compare my straight male friends to gay men. As in, “Shoot. If you were gay we could go shopping,” and “It’s too bad you’re not gay. Cuz then we could look at boys together,” and “Can you please turn gay? We’d have so much fun if you were gay. Are you sure you’re not gay?” It is my duty to believe this doesn’t offend you. I must be a camera Nazi. Especially if you have a digital. After you take my picture, I have to see it on the viewer immediately. If I don’t like it, you have to erase it. I must act explicitly offended when hit on by creeps, but I must secretly feel smug. These creeps are: Overbaked Mexican construction workers, stumbling drunk men, and old people. I may date creeps but not persons significantly older or younger than I—in fact, no one may date anyone younger than half his/her age plus seven. This rule does not apply to Devin. His rule is “anyone over eighteen.” I must keep my abs tight, and my back arched seductively. It doesn't matter how uncomfortable this is—anything is better than looking like I have proper posture. I must demand equal treatment. You must treat me as an equal unless money is involved; in which case I will accept your dominance. This article comes from Shmeng http://www.shmeng.com/ The URL for this story is: http://www.shmeng.com/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=696