Someday My Prince Will Come

I'm as girly as a girl can get.

I love clothes. My make-up collection is, umm, abundant.  OK, it's freaking huge, so what? If you catch me without a pedicure, know that something is very, very wrong. I enjoy doing interesting things with my hair.

Wanna see me have fun? Watch me plan, shop for, cook and serve a lavish meal to people I care about.  I can sew, crochet and knit. I even get excited when I find the "Magic Sponge" 2-packs at the dollar store.

If you are a man who does not hold a door open for me, know that you have reserved your very own seat in the "friends only" section of my life.

I like to giggle and flirt and wear sexy shoes. I have tiny lapdogs. OK?

I most definitely enjoy being a girl.

But I must be missing a gene, which you seem to have in spades. I'm not complaining. I have a feeling this lack is somehow tied into my prowess with power drills, belt sanders and other assorted household tools. Also, when I come across an uninvited guest in the form of a bug, I calmly scoop it into a cup and take it outside. No screeching or squishing required. (If you stomp on that critter, do you think you are making any sort of dent in the thriving bug population in your environment? You're not.) So, I'm quite happy without this particular womanly/hormonal/chromosomal thing.

You know what I'm not happy with? Your incessant, relentless, interminable, unremitting, ad nauseum monologues about your significant other. Oh, the conversation may start innocently enough, but it's only a matter of (brief) time before you get that coy look on your face and, holy-one-note-samba, Batman!  We're knee deep in another pointless narrative about your "sweetie". 

Let me put it as plainly as I know how.

I don't care. I am not interested. I don't give a crap.

It is simply common courtesy which prevents me from getting up and walking out of the room every time you open your mouth to speak.

You are a grown woman. Do you have NOTHING ELSE going on in your life? Really?

There is something I haven't been able to figure out, though.

What the hell do you talk about when you're with Prince Charming?

Annoyance of the Day

People who use their Facebook status to give you a minute-by-torturous-minute account of their day's mundane activities. No, I don't care that you made breakfast, washed the dishes, checked your email , gazed at the clouds in the sky while thoughtfully picking your nose, or counted the number of bumps in your cottage cheese ceiling (732,409).

There are certain things we all do which, though not shameful, should be kept private and not shared with the world. Didn't your parents teach you that?

And to add insult to injury, you have the gall to ask me why I deleted my old account, set up a new one under an assumed name and neglected to include you in my now blessedly small group of friends.

Really?