I Am Not A Woman

I am glad I am not a woman. I mean apart from the obvious drawback of suddenly finding myself with incompatible body parts, I don’t think I’d be able to handle the shopping.

I’m not a big fan of choice – I generally want things to be right for me without all the decisions that go along with picking.

I could go after many examples here to rip apart with my argument the way you know I do, picking easy targets and knocking stuff to size, but for the purposes of this post, I’m taking down lady’s pants.

OK, “trousers”, but since I saw this in the US, I’m using the funicular. Stay with me now.

On the shelves, the ladies have three types of jeans, described thus:

EASY FIT – Just right – like being with your best friend
BOOT CUT – Instant style – on endless days, the jeans you’ll always reach for
STRAIGHT LEG – Straight up cool – you know who you are

I shit ye not. Those were the choices, right there in Macy’s. Fuck Christmas, the real Miracle On 34th Street is how the hell women can choose a pair of trousers.

I’ve never felt comfortable with the word trousers. It sounds like a description of folks who trouse, and that sounds weird. Trousing sounds like paying for sex, and that’s not great.

Personally speaking, I mean, but there’s a whole debate there that we’re not going to have on this site. I think paying for sex seems a little cold, but that’s because I’m more into the mental thing. And believe me, when I have sex, it is mental.

Anyway. Choice – I’d be lost. I do like being with my best friend, but then again… instant style. And that’s saying nothing about the third choice, which cuts straight to the very essence of self.

I’m no good with choice. If it were me, I’d want one thing that does it all.

For me – Easy BootLeg, every time. Bang. Ring it up.