A Plea To All My Girlfriends

Hey ladies, can we stop trying to kill chivalry here?

Srsly.

I know we all think we can do anything the boys can do and we don't need nobody treating us like sissy girls who need a man to kill spiders and open up those tricky mayonnaise jars.

But, um...I can't do everything the boys can do.

And, uh....I would prefer to be treated like the hormonal, irrational, physically weaker girl that I am.

Boy am I glad to get that out!

Yep.  I have scrawny little arms more suited for whipping up meringues than pouring concrete.  Were I required to join a profession that called for manual labor I would fall behind.  That's just a fact.  I can show you my arms, they're pretty worthless.

So, as I am oh-so-secure in my daintiness,  I would appreciate a little recognition of the hours spent making said desserts with a door held open.

"Why thank you sir, and may the Lord bless you with a wife, mother, daughter, niece, nice lady neighbor, etc. willing to share her lady skills like listening to you complain about your job, complimenting your new hair cut or bringing you hot chocolate as you shovel snow."

I also, as a girl, suffer from the little known ailment: raging hormones and enough estrogen to cause me to cry like a baby during Cheaper by the Dozen and While You Were Sleeping.  I view the world with my emotions and I am moved easily. 

With that said, I would like to be spoken to like the fragile thing that I am, on the verge of cracking....which I may or may not be depending on the day.

Or hour.

I like to be offered a place to sit.

I like the bacon brought home.

And I like protection from the dark, serial killers, and zombies.

So whoever is spreading the rumor that none of us gals like to be treated like gals please leave your generalizations in your pockets so I can be who I am; hormones, weak arms, chocolate hoarding, and all.

Thanksomuch.

98 days...

Ok seriously. Why do these invitations need to be so complicated?

Why I thought a simple card with words on it wouldn't be enough, is beyond me. Why I needed to have little pockets to hold the RSVP and other junk, I will never know. I do know that if I hear one more time that I should have hired a company to do them for me I just might blow a gasket.

Here is list of things I don't need to hear for the next 98 days:
1. The invitation thing.
2. It looks like rain.
3. I hope you can fit into your dress after eating that sheet cake.
4. You're lucky Corey is so involved in the planning.
5. Is that a stain on your dress?
6. You should've eloped.
7. Could you do me a favor?
8. Why is your eye twitching?
9. Scotch really isn't a breakfast food.

That about covers it.

112 days...

After going through the rules of the blog (no swearing, no changing old posts, no posting 8th grade pictures of me, etc.) and after being accused of not sharing the facts accurately (he actually bought my society lady dress), Corey is now an invited author.


What you will notice about him through his posts is that he is quick, he is sharp, and he loves to egg me on...all the qualities I would attribute to a Leprechaun.

For example, the dog did not eat an English Muffin with peanut butter. But Corey said he did to elicit the response he craves. Congratulations on your success, my friend. To this very moment I'm wondering how, with all this food you claim to feed him, he is going to be the world champion long jumper.