10 things I’d like to be able to do that girls can totally just do

Published: 8th May, 2014

Even this!

Childbirth

I’m a million miles away from being a laddy lad – I’m allergic to wearing shirts and jeans, I’m dreadful at banter, I’m relatively socially awkward and can’t function in loud pubs. I could probably do a piece about things I’d like to be able to do that other blokes can totally do, and I may well do that. But for now I’m writing about girls, beautiful girls and the wonderful things they take for granted that make me envious, none of which are their big juicy tits…

Go shopping in numbers – when guys shop they’re like little soldiers on a mission to get in and out of somewhere as quickly as possible. Have you ever been to the men’s changing rooms? They’re empty, you could meditate in them. Anyway, I’d love to gather together a group of lads and we can all go trouser shopping together. We’d take our time, it’d be like Sex in The City, we’d all have a Starbucks.

Mouth along to the words when I dance – on a dancefloor, I’m the guy body-spasming out of time, but the truth is there’s a war raging inside me, I’m holding my breath to stop myself from throwing my hands in the air and belting out the words. It’s a move that would find my membership revoked from every single club in the world. But you girls, you can just sing along without a care. It actually hurts to watch.

Feel truly protected – I’m thirteen and a half stone of pure muscle, mixed with tendons and bones and quite a lot of fat, so I’m MEDIUM-BIG, hence the natural selection process has mostly left me cradling girls who are smaller than me in my strong, manly arms that could easily be carved from marble. Sometimes I look down at them nestling there like beautiful little sparrows feeling absolutely cared for and protected and I wish I was them so much it pains me. I start to weep.

Orgasm on a washing machine – There are few delicate ways to have an orgasm when you’re a guy, pretty much all of them end with you mopping stuff up or groaning like a feral dog. Our bodies basically do everything they can to axe-murder romantic moments. Whereas you girls can just lean against a tumble dryer sensually biting your bottom lip for a few minutes and suddenly you’re multiple orgasming and singing operatic soprano with heavenly glee. Sometimes I remember that and I just want to scrawl SLUT on my chest in lipstick.

Wear clip on earrings – it’s not just the clip on earrings I envy, I’m using those as an ingenious metaphor for everything girls get to do style-wise. It’s a clever writing technique that I’ve picked up after years of practice. God I’m good at imagery. Anyway girls get to channel their inner princess with a different costume every day – curly hair, straight hair, hair scraped up into a little ball and speared with a chopstick, anything goes! My inner princess is crying because she has a beard.

Say LOVE YOU at the end of a phone call to a friend – I’m not stuck in the olden days, I’m a modern guy with a modern vibe, I ride a bike. And yet I haven’t mastered the breeziness of a LOVE YOU at the end of a phone call to one of my pals. Instead what happens is that I opt to go for it, my voice becomes tight, blunt and grave and I end up saying I LOVE YOU as if I’m genuinely professing it for the very first time.

Play the harp – I’m working some serious metaphors again, it’s not necessarily that I’d want to play the harp, like with so many dainty instruments, or urges to bake things, it’s just that I don’t think society would allow it. A harp would buckle beneath my clumsy male touch, it’s ladylike and precious, my disfunctional sausage fingers would snap the strings, then I’d have no option but to hurl the thing at the wall and tear my shirt open in rage. I’M A MONSTER!

Light candles and have a sexy bath – I’d love to spend half an hour setting up the perfect environment for a bath, I’d put on some gentle saxophone music, leave a trail of roses to a tub lit only by candlelight, I’d take a Flake from the fridge, I’d unbutton my shirt and fondle my breasts while a lizard darted across my home phone. But I can’t do any of that because I’m a fucking bloke and I’d totally kill the vibe by having a splashy two-minute wank.

Ask someone to smell my hair – there are so many more things that only girls can really do that I long to try out. I’d like to burst into tears in front of my friends and have them swarm around me looking both concerned and secretly pleased, I’d like to buy a new shampoo and get people to smell my hair. I’d like to only drink Prosecco for the evening one night. But of course I can’t do ANY of that because I was cursed with this large beautifully proportioned penis and two strong bollocks just beneath it. To hell with my Herculean body!

Have a baby – and finally, the miracle of childbirth! It involves something akin to forcing a large chestnut out of your dick, but it then turns out to be the coolest chestnut in the world and it doesn’t matter that it totally ruined your willy and caused you unbelievable pain. You’d even do it all again once your genitals finally grow back. That’s a power of forgiveness I’m both envious OF and curious ABOUT.

Any more for any more?

Josh Burt
About the author:

Josh has been a writer and journalist for the best part of twenty years and has written for modern staples like FHM and Cosmopolitan and The Daily Telegraph and The Sun. He has also written a small handful of so-so books that you can still buy.

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