Women rule the world. Okay, maybe I’m biased, but they do. Just look at them—raising us, feeding us, bathing us, nurturing us; hardwired to reassure and bolster each other against disappointment and confusion. Evolving from decade to decade with more confidence and insight than ever before, the female animal is a mystery indeed. They are complex creatures, their brains an intricate weave of thoughts and emotions with more than a few twists and turns. To understand the inner workings of the female mind…on second thought, don’t bother, unless you can decipher code and are telepathic.
At an early age, we get a glimpse into this sisterhood, when we migrate to one best girlfriend, one that we tell all our secrets to, play dress-up with, giggle with, and swear on our Barbie’s grave that we will never steal each other’s boyfriend…even if we are only 10.
As we move into adolescence, most of us have hit puberty, with hormones shifting, breasts growing, and sex drive emerging. It’s all about peer pressure and social acceptance, and with that comes a more competitive and combative stage. Whereas men prefer the outward way of fighting it out and beating each other to a bloody pulp, we unleash our alpha bitch soup; that passive-aggressive mix of catty, backstabbing, manipulative and conniving—not our most charming side.
Since theoretically, girls are not allowed to express their anger openly, our best alternative is to vent behind the scenes, with secret whispering and sideway leers. With women, it’s more of a game of chess, rather than a football game of groping and crotch-grabbing.
As we become young adults and grapple with life’s social pressures, we take comfort in having a close group of friends that we can share with—more importantly vent with. Since our bodies are hardwired to feel good when we nurture each other, it seems only fitting that over the next decade or so, we show an unbridled capacity to sit in countless coffee shops with our girlfriends on countless nights, drinking endless cups of coffee, or wine, discussing men and how fucked up they are—debating and dissecting what it means when they say “I’ll call you.” We reassure each other valiantly that it’s the men that are at fault, and that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with us.
No sooner are we reassured, than we become desperate to find a boyfriend, convince ourselves that our lives are empty without one, seek the wrong someone out, and trigger a domino effect of shame and self loathing. That pesky fear of being alone would gnaw at you, drawing out all sorts of jealous resentment of anyone who was in a relationship. Ah yes…the green-eyed monster. That jealousy was far from an abnormality for us. It was an inherent part of our nature—an evolutionary drive, just like our reptilian need for sex or chocolate. That jealous rage could come cascading to our brains at the drop of a coin, or at the shift of a hormone.
Does Lorena Bobbitt ring a bell? In her defense, she did allegedly suffer years of physical, sexual and emotional abuse. Was the woman a fucking nutcase, or was attacking his manhood a sort of poetic justice? Frankly I wouldn’t have the balls, no pun intended…but I digress…
The twenties for me were far from magical. Insecurities, rejection, break-ups…Who needed it! I was ready to move on. Eventually you would either cross that line from passive female to bitchhood, refusing to take any more shit from men (which thankfully I did); or you would end up wallowing and muttering under a blanket of M&M’s for eternity.
Now that we’re older, wiser and mellower (translation, less bitchy), we are more apt to warm up to other attractive women and less likely to see them as rivals. We have mastered the art of no-nonsense, learned the art of seduction and become more adventurous in spirit. We go from needing a mate to wanting someone to share our lives with, someone with whom we can enjoy a fabulous feast of midlife sexuality. Although cattiness is more a thing of the past, we just can’t resist that little jab when the situation calls for it.
Nothing gives a woman more pleasure than sticking it to their exes; the rush of knowing your ex just caught a glimpse of you looking hotter than ever, particularly when the woman he left you for pales in comparison…or the smug satisfaction we get when we run into a tormentor from our past, who happens to be going through a break-up, knowing we have a boyfriend, (especially a hot sex big package boyfriend).
…. Karma? Maybe…but this kind of empowerment, as petty as it seems, has helped drag us from the drudgery of our past, liberate us with confidence and allow us to adapt and evolve into the fabulous sexual creatures we are today…So, Ya-Ya to us!
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