Until now that is.
I’ve done the woman thing for 43 years now and it’s not always all it’s cracked up to me. For example, whilst its wonderful creating new life, it’s not always fabulous being the one that has to change new life’s nappy. It’s fantastic being free as a woman to express your emotions and blub openly at the sad moments in movies but it’s not so brilliant when you’re awash with hormones and you burst into tears at work because you cannot get your wheelie chair to elevate to the right height.
Being a woman is fantastic. As anyone who watches TV will attest a woman’s life is full of wonderful moments. Ah yes, girly coffee mornings with your morning Ryvita and skipping through the nearest park with your Macleans showing (but not your bra straps), shaking your luscious hair from side to side which is oh-so-glossy from using Timotei/Pantene/Sunsilk and not because you’ve doused your scalp with oily delousing lotion the night before. Thanks kids! And as you skip along a chorus of appreciative men turn and smile encouraging smiles at the dear sweet thing as she achieves yet another walk down the road ALL BY HERSELF. They don’t leer, or wolf-whistle or undress you with their eyes.
Being a woman is brilliant, but I would like to have a crack at being a bloke. You know just to see if it would be fun. And the extra 10% in my pay packet would be nice too.
I’ve always wondered how it would be to jump out of bed and be out the door ten minutes later without having to a) find tights that don’t have toe to hip ladders, b) unclog the mascara bottle before sticking the brush straight into my eyeball c) argue with children about how much cereal is a portion for a small human being.
I’ve always wondered how much fun it would be to be able to walk past a laundry basket and not feel the urge to fold the clothes. Or even feel secure in the knowledge that you are not qualified for housework, because you don’t have ovaries.
But these reincarnation ambitions were upset this afternoon when I was out doing the grocery shopping. In a road to Damascus moment I realised my desire to return as a bloke is misguided, for there is a creature on this planet who surely has the most charmed life.
The one creature that has the independence of a man, yet is pampered like a woman. The one creature that knows its own mind, and is also able to skillfully manipulate the minds of others. A creature who is loved, adored, worshipped and yet maintains a lofty air of disinterest. Who has the option of game for breakfast, lunch or dinner, (pigeon on the wing anyone?) yet is often spoiled by her staff with the finest money can buy like this lovely menu example found in the Pets’ aisle at Tescos yesterday:
Not just ordinary cat pate mind you, this is wheat and dairy free cat pate, perfect for the pampered puss!
Of course I can hardly poke fun given I spent over $5000 flying my cat and dog from NZ to live with us in the UK.
Next time I’m coming back as a cat.
Et tu Brute?
Who are you coming back as, and why?
Image: Flickr CC