It’s rare someone wants to be startled when they go to the bathroom – I am not the exception to this rule.
No, my husband didn’t hide behind the linen closet and jump out when I walked by, Dos wasn’t tucked into the bathtub trying to sleep, and there weren’t any spiders in the sink or dropping from the ceiling.
My surprise came from a much more innocuous source: underwear.
I just discovered I’ve been wearing my underwear inside-out all day long. I feel sheepish.
The funny part of this discovery, for me, is that I desperately want to blame someone for this faux pas. I don’t want to believe I’m dippy enough to not notice the clothing I’m wearing.
But I’m the one who folded the laundry. I’m the one who selected this particular undergarment, I’m the one who has worn it all day and not noticed.
Me. Just me.
What a bummer. But because I’m so desperate to blame someone, something, anything for this fashion mishap, I’ve decided to pin responsibility on “Mommy Brain.”
You know, the medical condition that curses normally intelligent women while pregnant and following childbirth? I also call it “a brain like Swiss cheese – sometimes there are entire holes missing in the processing action.”
My husband doesn’t understand this. He knows I’m relatively sharp in the mental department and can’t figure out why I’ve done things like put DVDs in the freezer or straight-up drive into a post. I have no plausible explanation for him.
But I did ask him if he was ever jealous of me being a girl.
“Honey… I don’t know how to say this without being rude, but I’m pretty sure there is no guy out there who has ever wanted to be a girl,” he said. I can’t remember the direct quote following this statement but it involved several stereotypes that I’m sure I’ve done nothing to promote in his brain over the years – things like not being able to control our emotions, over analyzing everything, never wanting to wear high heels…
I listened politely and then gave it another shot:
“There must be something you think girls can do that guys can’t do that’s pretty cool!” I pursued.
He was quiet for a little while. When he came up with his “one thing” his whole body perked up.
“I think it would be cool to feel the baby move,” he said. Then he opened his mouth to speak again: “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to be pregnant at all, though!”
I generously offered him the opportunity to carry a child and deliver it by caesarean section. I’m sure if Cher’s androgynous child Chaz can start life as a man and switch midstream to a woman there’s a doctor on the planet who could help us out with a male pregnancy. I saw Junior, that strange Arnold Swartzeneger movie where he was pregnant.
Despite such motivation, Lizard didn’t seem to think going the way of Arnold would work out for him.
Then he turned the question to me, what would I like to possess that men have?
“I would like to be able to open my own jars,” I answered, and it’s true. It never fails that I have to ask for help to open a jar. Terribly inconvenient.
I’m not gonna lie, I’d also like to have it a little more clearly laid out than to simply not notice your underwear is inside-out.
I’m convinced this is why we get married, so men can get close to the beginning of life and women can open every spaghetti sauce jar that heads their direction.
What would you enjoy about being of the opposite gender?