Let's talk about boys.
I would call them men but I think that’s giving most of them way too much credit, and it kind of freaks me out. It even makes me quiver when bathroom signs say “men” and “women.” I prefer the cute and slightly obnoxious signs that you see in themed restaurants. You know, the ones that instill a slight fear in you that you might end up walking into the wrong restroom.
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Anywho, we’re going to stick to boys and girls and be adults about it.
Boys are basically monkeys that wear clothes, and if we’re being honest the probability of them being fully clothed at home is lower than Kim Kardashians’ IQ. Yikes.
Much like monkeys and Kim Kardashian, boys are hairy and it’s something they take pride in.
Girls pretend that boy-hairiness is gross but that’s just because we’re slightly jealous that it’s not socially acceptable for us to go a year and a half without shaving our legs. Razors are expensive and we don’t really like to shower anyway therefore, it pisses us off by association. We gather at the yearly renewal of our girl cards and decide what is going to repulse us about boys for the coming year.
It’s quite the gathering, especially now seeing as we have Caityln Jenner on our side. I hope she knows one Lululemon product and two bottles of Barefoot Mascoto are required for entrance.
Girls are supposed to be the more mysterious creatures between the two genders. I possess evidence to the contrary and that lies in two words that rear their ugly heads every fall. Yes, I’m talking Fantasy Football and there are so many questions I don’t know where to begin.
Someone has to ask, so I’ll dive on the grenade, you do know it’s not real life, right... hence the word fantasy? We think not so don’t ask us anything about it. We don’t get it and we never will.
The only reason we’re okay with it is because it gets you out of the house on Sundays so we can poop in peace and eat cookie butter by the jar while wearing our high school track sweatpants that have holes in the crotch and very little elastic remaining thanks to our freshman fifteen that we still haven’t lost. We’re not mysterious, we’re gross, grosser than you and your buddies but you’ll never know that because Fantasy Football is “bae” until February 7th and we’ll gladly take the backseat.
We may act like Satan’s mistress when you say you’re going out on Sunday afternoon but we’re inwardly celebrating and planning our snacks.
Boys are monkeys. They throw crap around, take food from each other and endlessly challenge each other’s manhood, but we date them anyway. We date them because we need them to reproduce, which sometimes seems like a cruel joke but we want babies someday and we all have to make sacrifices. We date the monkeys because we think we have the power to make them into something like a domesticated Gorilla. Monkeys are cute and all, they eat bananas and wear diapers, they seem like they would make for good pals but apes are regal, strong and smart. Gorillas don’t wear diapers and they eat little-punk-monkey-boys for breakfast. Given the choice, we’d all take the gorilla, the one with the strong jaw line and muscular build, so pretty much Paul Walker. RIP.
If gorilla type boys really do exist, I’ll take one, ASAP but I think they’re kind of like unicorns. So, just like a good solider, I’ll keep visiting the zoo, pretending to care about Fantasy Football in hopes one will notice and me.
