Why are women called the fairer sex? As if we are dainty little flowers that need a wire up our asses to keep us standing up straight. I don’t know about you guys, but my day kicks my ass daily and no way would a fair, dainty woman with the propensity to faint from a cool breeze handle my day. Oh hell to the no she could not! Bet that mythical creature couldn’t handle yours, either. Neither could a man. If a member of Team Stix had to live even a quarter of my day- he would lose his fucking mind and go crumble into a corner to suck his thumb while smothering his hurt feelers in Super Man Band-Aids. That’s right boys- I just said YOU are the fairer sex because you can’t be an epic woman. Sure, you may be able to get a few tasks done and make some calls. Maybe even manage to look nice for the majority of the day up until someone asks you to make coffee, do 10 random tasks and listen to their whining- which all fall squarely out of your job duties- but you’re gonna listen anyway and try to be helpful because you are trying to be a member of Team Ladybits today. If you don’t- you will instantly be elevated from “always helpful” you to “always distant, bitchy and not a team player” you and can bet that will be brought up, noted and entered into the Who We Can Count on Bible at the daily jackass man manager lunch. But hey- at least you get paid more for having a penis and ball sack! Oh, and you can stand up to pee- I am genuinely jealous of you for that.
Right now- this moment- I have a very close friend crying at her desk. Crying. She doesn’t cry. Ever. She gave birth. Twice. No tears. You can say mean shit to her- like really insult her- and she won’t cry. You will though, because she will dress you down so badly with a verbal barrage of noun and verb bombs that you will wish you could somehow Star Trek your ass to Libya for a break from the beat down. She is at the mercy of some Jack Hole who is in a shit storm because he is not doing his job and woke up pissy. So he yells at her and throws her under the bus. Just a note- don’t you dare imply she doesn’t do her job because she will literally throw a fucking book of emails, notes and proof at your head that she did her job and you epically failed at yours. Then she will step on your head with pink painted toes, sharp stilettos and throw a handful of glitter on your stupid sad injured self so you can sparkle like the pansy you just proved yourself to be. See a pattern yet? She busts ass. He cries and throws a tantrum.
She is also a single mom- which really doesn’t matter because when she had a husband in the house her schedule was the same- so you know what that means right? Her day starts like at 4:30 AM. Get the kids up and dressed, then wrestle food into them and explain that they will march out to her giant truck like cute little pony tailed soldiers or else. Somewhere in that every -school- morning precision march- she manages to get herself ready (hair, make up, iron outfit, accessories, perfume) and make sure her fabulous shoes match each other. Because god forbid she show up to work sans makeup and her hair pulled back. That’s a professional woman’s kiss of death- because that means she can’t handle her job and her life and she must not care anymore. No breakfast or coffee for her though- she was sorta too busy. Then she drives the kids to school- because there is no busing for this Mommy- she will not function if she doesn’t see with her own eyes that her babies actually got to school safely and made it through the front door. Then the marathon sprint to work while whiners at the office call her cell and ask her questions about files she doesn’t have with her because hey- the files are in her office- where they belong! And no one would have to call her anyway if they had prepared last week for the meeting they are now sitting in and can’t answer the questions they are being asked by their bosses. Work is a fucking hell hole some days. People pointing fingers, bosses throwing people under the bus, paychecks being shorted and some dumb ass keeps using her creamer so still no fucking coffee for her. By now- Team Stix would be hiding in the back seat of their car choking on snot and tears while texting some random female to conjur up an at-a-boy or random cheesy compliment and hoping no one thinks to look for them in the parking lot. It’s not even fucking noon yet and her day will not end until 11 tonight.!
Honey Badger, you got got this. And I got you. Always.