Why Women Baffle Me…

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Oh ladies, you’re such beautiful, sensual creatures.

Your curves are so pretty and you smell nice and oh, you’re so soft, do you moisturise?

I like you because you’re so sensitive and interesting, and, oh wait; you’re also completely ridiculous, irrational and confusing.

It always amuses me to hear straight women moan about their boyfriends or lack thereof.
How they’re this close to packing it all in and becoming a lesbian.

Born-this-way arguments aside, if you think that this makes for an easy life, ladies you are sadly mistaken.

You think you can handle batting for the other side?
Allow me to highlight some issues you may encounter.

As a woman myself, you might think it ironic that I cannot comprehend the behaviour of other members of my own gender.

If this is the case, could you please answer the following?

Why do you say you’re “Fine” when you aren’t?

How about “ I’m not really okay, but I can’t find the motivation to talk about it right now?”
Can you imagine what happens when two of you are doing this?  Not argument resolution, that’s for sure.

Why can’t you make decisions?

How come you can’t decide what you want for breakfast, but you know exactly what you’re going to call your future children?

I’m confused.

I’m also still waiting to hear what you wanted to see at the cinema LAST WEEKEND…mainly because I couldn’t make a decision either.

Why did you make me sleep on the sofa when I said that Spencer Hastings was fit?

She isn’t real.

And you have a picture of Shay Mitchell IN YOUR WALLET.
I sense imbalance in the relationship.

Why do you remember all the bad things I do?

Is there a naughty list somewhere in your bedside drawer?
Because you seem to remember all of my misdeeds in chronological order, including that time I accidentally dyed your cat purple.

It’s peculiar that you can’t remember the time that you threw a baked bean tin at my head though.

Why don’t you eat your own food?

I liked the sandwich, so I bought it and am eating it.

You liked the sandwich, complained about the calorie count, yet are eating my chips.

I secretly hope all the fat goes to your face. Naturally, it goes to your boobs and I hate you a bit.

Why do you Instagram pictures of yourself with the caption “Bad photo, I’m so fat #nomakeup #fatday.”

I understand the desire for compliments, but from 15 year old teenage boys?
Little odd.

Why the hundreds of commenter’s don’t just say: “Look lady, if you thought you looked that bad, why did you put photographs of yourself on the internet? And don’t lie, you have a foundation chinstrap,” is beyond me.

Why do you cry about how horrible your ex-girlfriend is, and then get back with her?

She stole your money, pawned your toaster, snogged your sister and farted in bed, but despite the man hours I put in listening to you moaning about her, you will still definitely duck out of a girly night in to pick her up from the police station.

Again.

Also, I am secretly in love with you, have a job and all of my own teeth, so it breaks my heart a bit that you don’t like me better than her.

You can see why this perpetual bafflement makes for an interesting life as a lesbian; aware of my own irrational woman brain and trying to cope with another girl’s crazy.

Sometimes I think I should give up on women and become a nun, but then I watch Pretty Little Liars again and I’m like…nah.

She can walk in heels, but can still put up a mean shelf. London lesbian at large Ami writes about London, lesbians and being perpetually disillusioned. She also co-edits Reprobait Magazine, which is pretty good, even if she says so herself.

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