Men. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.

Men. Can anyone tell me what’s up with them??! Sheesh. Since time eternal, men have always been complaining about how difficult it is to read women.

Am I living in a parallel universe or am I actually a man who thinks he’s a woman who cannot fathom men who are actually maybe women? Because I’m the one who is having a tough time trying to figure them out.

Not one bit (unless maybe they involve some hanky panky but that’s another story for another day).

X is playing at something. Fuck. Just tell me what you want or don’t want. We are not seven years old where we can play ring-a-ring-of-roses or whatever that game is called all day. Yes or no. Don’t ignore me one day and be the sweetest creature the next.

Next up- BB. No it doesn’t mean “baby”. It means butterfly boy. In case anyone is wondering why he has such a namby pamby nickname, that’s because he deserves it.

Short history- I’ve known BB since I was 13 but recently decided to end the friendship because he always accuses me of not caring enough, is extremely possessive and is just plain needy. So we have not communicated in months and out of the blue he wants to meet me to pass me my birthday present.

My birthday is not even for another month! (26 November if anyone wants to wish me happy birthday then hahahaha)

Doesn’t he realise how stupid this whole thing is?! We don’t talk for months and boom suddenly you want to be friends again. I don’t want his present. It will only make me feel obligated to be nice to him and I don’t want to come across as fake. And he was the one who said “don’t bother those who can’t be bothered”.

Men. You men tell me what’s up with your sex. Enlighten me. Maybe I’m the mad one here. Actually, I realise I sound mildly schizo from the way my mood swings from one post to another. But then again, we women are famous for that right? So there.

No, really. Someone tell me. Having man troubles in one single day is too much for me to bear. I’m tired ok.

Sometimes I wish I lived in the Stone Age as a neanderthal. Wouldn’t life be so much simpler if we all grunted instead of having proper conversations? It would also be much easier for you guys to impress us womenfolk by clubbing some animal to death and dragging it back by its hair to our cave.

And then we can all do the hooga shaka, dance around the fire and have plain, animalistic sex. Sheesh. Hooga hooga.


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