Women’s Intuition

You know those girls?

The ones you see when you are in line for a movie, or out to dinner, or at a birthday party of some college friend you barely talk to anymore. You can always hear them come in, super loud and giggly, and always ultra shiny and glossed up.

You know who they are. You’ve been introduced to them, oh, at least 500 times.

And yet…they only say hi to your husband.

Not you.

You could be naked, riding Osama Bin Laden bareback holding a burning crucifix and a two headed kitten, and she wouldn’t even know you were there.

I mean, until your husband introduces you for the 501st time, and she finally makes eye contact with you, long enough for you to see into her whore soul, and then she gushes about, giving you a fake compliment on something trivial, and goes into some lame story about how she knows your husband, which always amounts to her dating one of his friends a million years ago, and there is always some funny incident at a bar that she never quite goes into detail about, but you totally know is the night she got drunk, pissed her pants, and then all the guys had to listen to the lovely pair having sex back at their dorm for an hour while she brayed like a donkey.

But she doesn’t know you know that part.

So, you just smile, nodding your head, readjusting your huge sparkly wedding rings (Sam’s Club, HOLLA!), rubbing your adorable baby belly, as she playfully swats at your husband for a few more minutes until she sees some fresh male genitalia walk through the door, and she jets off to greet it, leaving pink glitter in her wake.

So yeah, those girls.

Where is their self respect? Where is their sense of womanhood? And where the fuck is the top button to the shirt they always leave half open!?

I fucking hate those girls.

Not because they make me jealous or insecure, which , honestly, may have been the case, say 5 or so years ago, but now, I am too tired to be jealous. And as for my husband, I am working on popping out my third kid in a 3 year span, I obviously have no problems with my milkshake bringing the boys to the yard.

But those girls, Jesus Christ, those girls. I hate them because they are stupid, a complete embarrassment to women. And, I am not even a big ‘ole feminist. Hell, I wish it were 1950, so I could pad around my house half drunk in a frilly apron, with 5 kids, a dog and some guy leaving milk on my doorstep every morning. But, in today’s changing society, if the only thing you bring to the table is tying a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue, you need to reevaluate your shit.

Here is my advice, silly, silly girls. All men are fun one night at a bar. It’s when the one night at a bar turns into 10 years of mortgage payments, job changes, in laws, babies…now that is something worth bragging about.

Besides, I can knot a cherry stem in 6 seconds flat, and you don’t want to see what I can do with a banana.

Now excuse us, but we really must go, I am craving a vanilla milkshake from McDonalds, and I need some privacy so I can finally undo the rubber band keeping my pants on, and scratch all the new, itchy stretch marks on my belly.