Manly Thoughts.

I think I should have been born a man. Not in the transgender/transsexual way (insert “not that there’s anything wrong with that” here). Rather in the sense that the normal girl brain functions I witness on a daily basis, I seem at a loss to explain. Watching the somewhat amusing “He’s Just Not That Into You”, made me want to jump ship. I had an overwhelming desire to hurl foul words of abuse at the pathetic portrayal of the womankind on the screen. Noooooo that’s merely an exaggeration used for entertainment purposes you say! Is it? Is it really? I think that someone needs to put on their flannels, cosy up to a mirror and wake up to themselves!

I was not born with the gene that sends women into that psychotic trance of overanalyzing what he’s thinking. I guarantee you he’s not thinking anything at all. If he wants to talk to you he’ll call you. If he doesn’t then he's either a) busy doing something else (this does not mean he doesn't like you, it means he has a life) or b) he really doesn’t like you that much. This does not make you a bad person. It’s not that hard ladies! And yet why do we feel the need to pretend our lives are one long episode of Law and Order: SVU in which each minuscule piece of evidence should be labouredly studied using latex gloves and a UV light. Now don’t get me wrong, I have cried over a man, yes indeed. But I thoughtfully and selflessly kept roughly 80% of my heartbreak to myself. Do you think men are sitting around crying to each other about what went wrong? NO! This is why sitcoms are not based around a group of hip and trendy New York men. I long for the simplicity of the male friendship, its lack of drama. I admit I can tolerate a polite amount of discussion over a broken heart (an hour max.) then my mind wanders to the more important issues; what am I going to wear for work tomorrow? Do I need to get up early to wash my hair, or can I dry shampoo it for another day? Will it make me fat to have pizza for the third consecutive night in a row (probably yes)? Cue me making fake static sounds (hissss its cutting ou – hissssss raaaaaaa, can’t hear yo-hiiisssssssss) in an attempt to get the hell off the phone. I love you, I swear I do, but here is the number of a therapist. As a society we have been wrongly led to believe that bearing our soul to a therapist rather than a friend is self-involved and unnecessary. Its not. Think of it as a gesture to show your friends how much you really care about them. I promise you they are not as interested in your ramblings as they appear to be. Now go, dial that number, you’ll be a better friend for it.

Love Delilah