Ways in which I am a woman:

I have all the right physiological bits

I have an adequate amount of crazy (some would even say that I have a surplus)

I can walk well in high heels, even if they’re killing my feet (which I will not admit)

I know the appropriate time to restock soap, toothpaste, dish detergent, milk, and cooking oil

I know tools by their real names: “pokey doodad”, “twisty-thing”, “whacky-thing”, “Pry thing”

I look in the mirror, grab my belly flub, and frown at least 3x a day

I’ve convinced The Cheerleader I Live With that I fart pink fluffy clouds

I like to subtly hint at things, and then get infuriated when those subtle hints aren’t acted on

Ways in which I am NOT a woman:

I cannot for the life of me shave my legs while standing up in the shower

I was 30 years old before I used make-up for the first time.

I still don’t know what mascara does (aside from run… whatever that means)

I mistook maternity pants for yoga wear

I consist of about 3% Maternal Instinct

I say, “it really doesn’t matter” a lot while I’m planning my wedding

I hate cocktails and martinis

Channing Tatum and Benicio Del Toro skeeve me out


Happy Monday.