The Secret Lives Of Girls (The Things I Do That You Don't Want To Know I Do)
“You’ve ruined the illusion of femininity for me!” he proclaimed, swaying slightly under the vodka shots. He reiterated it again to me, days later, completely sober.
I figured my friend shouldn’t be alone in destitution, so now I’m going to ruin “the illusion of femininity” for you all (except for you women who are already in on our dirty little secrets). We don’t shit rainbows. Our bodily fluids aren’t made up of sparkling candy soda. We don’t eat dewdrops and fairy dust. And not all of us like puppies.
I poop. I poop a lot—today I have already pooped twice. I love the feeling of pooping and I’m completely engaged with my poop—I wipe and inspect. I’m not going to pretend to think I’m unique in this—all my girl friends do the same. We even sit around from time to time (if from time to time means everyday) and discuss our poop.
You think that’s gross, right? Well, I don’t. I don’t think there’s anything particularly gross about one of our most natural bodily functions (I mean, unless you’re eating it or wearing it as a hat or something); everyone poops. And being aware of it is a way for me to keep up with my body. Is my poop a wet runny mess sputtering out of my ass? Yep, I’m dehydrated; need to drink more water! Is it bright yellow? Woops ate something bad, or I need to pre-empt this cold and down the vitamins! Is it sort of maroon-ish? Those beets really did a number on staining my intestines—what a curiosity!
Girls also poop in front of each other. My girl friends and I joke (but really we’re completely serious) that we’re not real friends until we’ve shared a poop. Girls also poop when they need to poop. I’ll poop in the toilets at a bar or a club or a cinema or wherever—when you’ve got to go you’ve got to go. I’ve got girl friends that have pooped in the ocean (I really want to do it; apparently it feels really weird) and just on the ground in a natural environment, like the bush.
We fart too, and as the saying goes, everybody loves the smell of their own brand. Except period farts—even girls don’t like the smell of those.
I also burp. I can burp the alphabet. Most girls know that burping is a great way to clear more room in your tummy when you’re starting to feel full but want to continue eating—most girls also like to eat until they feel sick. I’m the kind of girl that really loves eating (there’s a contingent of girls out there who really love eating but are championing the illusion that they don’t. Ever taken a girl out on a date and she orders some sort of trendy salad with kale or walnuts? Bitch is just waiting to ditch you so she can go to White Castle on her way home and scarf a cheeseburger. See now I’m lying—she’s going to inhale at least 2 burgers and a large fries), and I’ll eat anything. And I mean anything.
Once, starving and salivating, I purchased a tuna sandwich from a deli in Soho. Walking down Broadway stuffing one half in my mouth, mayonnaise smeared across my cheek, I accidentally dropped the other half. It fell open on the pavement. I cursed loudly, and the hoards of people walking past me were staring. “God damn it,” I said extra loud, making sure everyone around me could hear, “I guess I’ll just have to throw this out now.” I bent down and dramatically scooped up the fallen sandwich.
Like Gollum I scurried around a corner, hunched over my mangled sandwich, carefully put the two sides back together and took a huge bite. Three bites later my floor sandwich was all gone. What, I was hungry? And you all know I’m not the only one who’s eaten food off of the ground—in my experience girls will do all sorts of nasty shit just to get a feed.
I know you probably think I’m some kind of uniquely filthy, completely nasty bitch, but I’m not. Just because I like picking the wax out of my ears and rolling it into little balls, or because I spend an equal amount of time picking my nose and hoping that a little hair will come out attached to the snot. Just because I sleep with my hand down my pants and drool on the pillow, or because sometimes I pass out with a flattened chip stuck to my cheek, only to wake up and eat it. Just because sometimes I get my period and I don’t have immediate access to sanitary products so I stuff my knickers with toilet paper.
Here’s the part where I go and ruin everything for you—all the girls, every single one, ESPECIALLY the ones who tell you they don’t fart or WORSE, never even say the word—we all do filthy shit, all the time, and it’s all the same. Crap comes out of all our butts, period comes out of all our vaginas, gas comes out of all our pretty little orifices that seem so sensual to you, and we all have a skeleton in the closet that’s done something completely feral in the name of food. Oh, and if you want us to like you, for the love of God let us squeeze your back pimples—girls love squeezing stuff.
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Nobody actually expects you to act like an adult for a while.
“What are you going to do with an English degree?”
I’m finding it hard to muster any sympathy for this asthmatic leatherneck. Instead, there is only contempt.
He noted that during trial, the women (we made up three out of the four mockers) mumbled to ourselves in between questioning witnesses.