‘Girling’ is Great

I think the first time I had some inkling into how great it is to be a girl was when Mufasa died.

I was about eight years old, ‘The Lion King’ was taking over the world and pop culture savvy as my school was, they went ahead and organised a special trip to the cinema so a whole bunch of minors could be scarred for life.

Scar is a bad kitty. And when he did what he did and Mufasa came back as a cumulonimbus, as a girl, I could cry freely.

I could wail, hold my girl friend’s hand and look accusingly at grown-ups but as I cast my eye around the cinema to share a look of wet horror with my male friends, for the most part, I found them staring straight ahead in what looked like assorted poses from a yet unwritten book titled ‘How to Hold in a Fart’.

Crying felt good but most of the boys weren’t having it. And the ones who did let a lone tear slide down their already emotionally repressed faces got the teasing of their lives come break time as well some extra zing behind the tennis ball in a game of Stingers.

I think that was the day.

The day I realised being a girl was pretty cool and this feeling of being happy in my skirts, in my pigtails and in my girliness was something I revelled in as activities and emotions began to be separated along gender lines interspersed with endless reruns of stuck out tongues after ‘boys are stupid!’ and ‘girls are scaredy cats!”

Twenty-two years later, I don’t think about how I like being a woman much.

The fight now is one for equality and often that means focusing less on what makes us different and more on what makes us the same. Equally capable. Equally deserving of opportunities and respect.

As the equality war wages, we don’t think about how great it is to be women much because once we age out of the obliviousness of being kids, we realise that sometimes being a woman sucks.

But this isn’t about the wage gap, the street harassment or the policing of our bodies. This International Woman’s Day week, for me, it’s just about remembering the silly and spectacular things that are great about girling.

Like crying.

Crying is amazing. It’s de-stressing, it waters your face and, as a woman, when I burst into tears of woe, happiness or the simple beauty of being alive, no one is going to think I’m five-to slitting my wrists, suggest I seek professional help or yell an awkward ‘be a man!’. Instead, people will wait it out, rub my back and bring me tea.

Also, awesome is the female ability to secretly look like Shrek but step out of the house looking borderline Beyonce.

While men must walk the streets with the faces God gave them, women can enhance or remix, well, everything. Short hair, eyelashes and body? Hello, extensions, more extensions and heels. The con is spectacular and highly acceptable for a woman but try and deny your facially challenged ancestors as a man and it’s all “why you wearing make-up, bro?”, “are you gay?” and emails about accepting male pattern baldness.

Add to this how often we are treated to free meals, free entry and free drinks just because we’re lady-shaped and smell nice and I bet being a woman is starting to look a little sweet. Well, all that and the fact that we are the home of multiple orgasms and the kind of discreet public arousal that doesn’t require we leave the room when excited or end with us being arrested or banned from parks.

With a bloody but God-given excuse to be a nightmare and eat chocolate by the factory once a month as well as the inexplicable mental and physical delight of dresses that skim knees, ankles or tickle in the wind, being a woman is a magical thing. Filled with hugs and kisses. Girl on girl hugs and kisses without the idiotic preface of ‘no homo!’ and entertainment as easy as taking a walk through the complexity and creativity of our minds.

And if that isn’t enough to convince you to wear your favourite lipstick, twirl around in your favourite dress and splash on a smile while eating chocolate and being adorably complex this International Women’s Day, more joy to add to the female cup is the reality that ultimately the world wants us to survive.

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War and conquering happening over there? Leave the women over here.

Unsinkable ship sinking? Let the women and children watch Leonardo Di Caprio sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Lions, tigers and bears heard in the distance? Send the men to secure the area after a short prayer.

In fact, let men everywhere be in charge of dealing with bugs, snakes and spiders as custom and as a rule.

That’s just the way it is.

And the way it is, ladies, is that, clearly, we’re frikkin’ precious.

The glorious door between before and the here on Earth.

Remember it.

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