I’m Glad I’m A Man - by: A Man
I’m glad I’m a man, you better believe.
I don’t live off of yogurt, diet coke, or cottage cheese
I don’t вiтсh to my girlfriends about the size of my breasts
I can get where I want to - north, south, east or west
I don’t get wasted after only 2 beers
and when I do drink I don’t end up in tears.
I won’t spend hours deciding what to wear,
I spend 5 minutes max fixing my hair
and I don’t go around checking my reflection
in everything shiny from every direction.
I don’t whine in public and make us leave early
and when you ask why get all bitter and surly.
I’m glad I’m a man, I’m so glad I could sing
I don’t have to sit around waiting for that ring.
I don’t gossip about friends or stab them in the back
I don’t carry our differences into the sack.
I’ll never go рsyсhо and threaten to кill you
or think every guy out there’s trying to steal you.
I’m rational, reasonable, and logical too
I know what the time is and I know what to do.
And I honestly think its a privilege for me
to have these two ваlls and to stand when I pee
I live to watch sports and play all sorts of ball
It’s more fun than dealing with women after all
I won’t cry if you figure out it’s not going to work
I won’t remain bitter and call you a jеrк.
Feel free to use me for immediate pleasure
I won’t assume it’s permanent by any measure.
Yes, I’m glad I’m a man, a man you see
I’m glad I’m not capable of child delivery
I don’t get all вiтсhy every 28 days
I’m glad that my gender gets me a much вiggеr raise
I’m a man by chance and I’m thankful it’s true
I’m so glad I’m a man and not a woman like you!
I Am Glad I Am A Woman-by:A Woman
I’m glad I’m a woman, yes I am, yes I am
I don’t live off of Budweiser, вееr nuts and Spam
I don’t brag to my buddies about my erections
I won’t drive to Неll before I ask for directions
I don’t get wasted at parties and act like a clown
And I know how to put the dамnеd toilet seat down!
I won’t grab your hоотеrs, I won’t pinch your butt
My belt buckle’s not hidden beneath my вееr gut
I don’t go around “readjusting” my crotch
Or yell like Tarzan when my head-board gets a notch
I don’t belch in public, I don’t scratch my behind
I’m a woman you see - I’m just not that kind!
I’m glad I’m a woman, I’m so glad I could sing
I don’t have body hair like shаg carpeting
It doesn’t grow from my ears or cover my back
When I lean over you can’t see 3 inches of crack
And what’s on my head doesn’t leave with my comb
I’ll never buy a toupee to cover my dome
Or have a few hairs pulled from over the side
I’m a woman, you know - I’ve got far too much pride!
And I honestly think its a privilege for me
To have these two воовs and squat when I pee
I don’t live to play golf and shoot basketball
I don’t swagger and spit like a Neanderthal
I won’t tell you my wife just does not understand
Stick my hand in my pocket to hide that gold band
Or tell you a story to make you sigh and weep
Then sсrеw you, roll over and fall sound asleep!
Yes, I’m glad I’m a woman, a woman you see
You can forget all about that old реnis envy
I don’t long for male bonding, I don’t cruise for chicks
Join the Hair Club For Men, or think with my dick
I’m a woman by chance and I’m thankful it’s true
I’m so glad I’m a woman and not a man like you!
Dear Connie, …

I know the counsellor said we should’t contact each other during our “cooling off” period, but I could’t wait anymore.

The day you left, I swore I’d never talk to you again but that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that me pride’s cost me a lot of things. I’m tired of pretending I don’t miss you. Maybe it’s time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. …

This is what my heart says: “There’s no one like you, Connie. I look for you in the eyes and вrеаsтs of every woman I see, but they’re not you. They’re not even close.
Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don’t say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation. She was young, maybe 19; with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Тiтs like you wouldn’t believe and an аss that just wouldn’t quit. Every man’s dream, right?
As I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we’ve made important in our lives. It’s all so superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I’m getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart that my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I’d never really thought of that before. I don’t know, maybe I’m just growing up a little.
Later, after I’d tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, “Why do I feel so drained and empty?” It wasn’t just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn’t feel the same because you weren’t there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, Im just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn’t eating right without a woman around. I didn’t know what she meant till later, but that’s not the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses or wine and the next thing you know, we’re ваnging away in our old bedroom. And this таrт’s a total monster in the sack. She’s giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she’s not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother’s old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it’s totally hot, but it makes me sad, too because I can’t help thinking, “Why didn’t Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We’ve had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sеx toy.”
Saturday, your little sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicki’s just a kid and all, but she’s got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she’s been a real friend to me during this painful time. She’s given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. She’s pulling for us to get back together. Connie, she really is.
So we’re doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here’s this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns out Vicky’s really into that whole аnаl thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I’m thrusting inside your baby sister’s cinnamon ring, all I can do it think of you?
It’s true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don’t you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can. If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.
Otherwise, can you let me know where the fuскing remote is?