WHY AM I FEMALE?

After reviewing photos of my darling granddaughter dancing in a park with a tutu on, I am reminded again of all those charming, feminine little quirks.... which I never have had. I think it was an automatic revolt against the pinky, curled, dainty little girl that my mother longed for. Somehow instead of the petite, blond, and girlish, she got a tall, gangly tomboy from day one.

Mind you, I'm very happy to be a women. I mean, men are so... MALE. Limited in understanding, seemingly driven by three basic instincts (I'll let you guess what those are, but yes, you are right, it's those three) and just sort of gross at times (i.e. in private). I love my husband, my son, and my son-in-law - but even they are... well, men.

But I don't like getting dressed up, I HATE shoes, I don't paying any attention to my hair, and the only makeup I wear anymore is mascara. I avoid the color pink like that plauge (although it is a good color for me), I don't go to church meetings that are, well, homemakerish (is that a word?), and my idea of a great meal for guests is bringing Pizza Hut home.

Well, you're probably right - I'm a woman, but just a SLOB (and proud of it!!!!).