I Enjoy Being a Girl

The new year approaches and my body is doing its darndest to remind me that I am in my “mid-to-late 40s" now. More importantly, making darn sure that I know that I am not in my 20s anymore. And there will be no turning back.

Being a girl can be so much fun.

No. Really.

I am not being facetious. Being a girl is absolutely spot on fabulous – about 40 weeks of the year.

We have such an edge over men.

Let’s start with the clothes. So many styles and variations to choose from. So many fashion icons to emulate - all at one time. Michelle Obama one day. Princess Diana the next. Carrie Bradshaw for this party. The neurotic germophobe teacher from Glee for that brunch. Thakoon here. J. Crew there.

For instance, if you are a girl, you have at least a million completely appropriate choices for your cousin's late afternoon wedding on the Good Ship Lollipop. With all the hemlines and sleeve lengths and waist heights, and necklines - the world is your oyster. There is surely at least a closet full of dresses that will simultaneously compliment your skin tone, show off your legs, flatter your bust, conceal the size of your butt and emphasize your teensy waist. All at an affordable price. And on-line, ready to wear.

If you are a guy, you have exactly one option and it will surely need alterations. You wear a suit. A suit where only the cut, cuff and lapel width has changed appreciably in the last 30 years. Just a suit. No matter who you are or what your physique dictates. A suit. Period. Sorry if you look like an appliance carton in it.

And shoes - girls have a million colors, heel shapes, heights, fabrics and variations of casualness. Sure it can be daunting - but who wouldn't rather be overwhelmed with possibility that bored to death with a shoe selection comprised of exactly 3 pairs of wingtips and/or cap toes, a pair of athletic shoes, something casual and a pair of flip flops. Yawn.

And girls can do anything. No one is going to look down their nose at a a gal with the chutzpa to participate in a typically male dominated activity. Look at Danica Patrick whizzing around in a race car with the big boys. Hillary Clinton knocking on the White House door for the top job. Sally Ride becoming the first American female in space. We applaud them all. Brava, ladies, brava!

But the minute a guy wants to join the majorette squad, look out. Eyes start to roll. People chuckle. Masculinity is called into question.

And let's not even start on a girl's luxury to skip a day of shaving or the ability to cover up a zit or an uneven skin tone with a little concealer. Blessings for sure.

But there is one bummer to being a girl - OK two, but they are related.

We get to conceive and bear all of the children - no sharing. Although it's probably for the best. We clearly are the more responsible parties. You guys would forget what you had cooking and go sky diving.

And in order to do so, we get a Period. The Big P. Aunt Flo. My Friend. The Monthly Bill.

Oh joy. The gift that keeps on giving.