Being a woman is the best.
We are so lucky. We have all the advantages and always have. Men want us and need us and protect us and basically revere us. What’s not to like about that?
We have such advantages!
We don’t have to go down into the basement to discover what “that sound” was! For many everyday scary things men will show us their bravery. It is they who get the snake out of the house, get rid of the hornet’s nest growing on the chimney. They lift heavy boxes and climb up on the roof. They often put up Christmas lights or other holiday decorations. They do the heavy lifting. They will fight off the bad guys, but it is a good thing they don’t have to experience childbirth. We are the brave ones when it comes to family.
Which reminds me, that it is women who nurture men over and over. We listen to them. We feed them. We give them support in their endeavors and most of all we take care of them when they are sick. NO ONE is as sick as a sick man. Women get up and cook dinner or dress their kids or do whatever is necessary whether they are sick or not, but it is generally true that men just go to bed moaning when they feel rotten.
Now both sexes can dress themselves pretty much any way they like. Nothing is forbidden and lots of skin is showing. Tattoos have become ubiquitous and no longer a sign of being a sailor or a biker. This is a great improvement for the men (perhaps). Though it was nice when people were more careful of how they dressed in public. Even I, who know better, wear my comfortable flip flops when shopping rather than shoes that hurt my feet.
When I was growing up Women got to wear all the pretty colors, the fussy clothes with ruffles and laces. We wore the pretty shoes, too. Men were in dark colors never even a pink shirt until the 1950s. And their shoes were very much regulated by their sex. Closed brown or black shoes or boots. Occasionally sneakers, but definitely not anything like what men wear today.
More about what makes a woman; Women have breasts that are beautiful and sexy. But they have a purpose that is vital. What a gift we have! The ability to feed a baby, manufacturing our own supply of milk along with huge beneficial additives all made by us. No bottles to clean, no yucky powders to mix, just pure healthy sustenance for our babies.
Speaking of that, the best of all is that we are the ones who have the babies. To grow a child within our bellies and give birth to it is the ultimate miracle. We are blessed. Without us, there would be no human race. We only need a few men, to spread their seed, for hundreds of thousands of women. Technically at least.
By the way, ONLY WOMEN CAN HAVE BABIES. Some confused (conflicted) women can identify as a man, but NO MAN can actually have a baby.(No one born male.) Period. The other wonderful thing about being a woman is that we can find a man to make a match with us. This is what makes both men and women happiest. When we are a happy couple all the good things are magnified and the bad things are diminished by half.
Men and women are meant to become couples and produce children and perpetuate the population of the earth. How has this become a radical idea? And there are happy couples of the same sex, too. That’s OK, too.
Since when was there any doubt about what a woman is? How dare a woman say she doesn’t know? Poor Ketanji Brown Jackson does not know how to define women and she is one. Does she not feel proud to be a woman? Does she give herself NO credit for advancing her career to the point where she is being considered to be a Supreme Court Justice BECAUSE she is a woman? But she cannot define what that means. REALLY?
Being a woman is the greatest gift God gave me. It makes me fulfilled and happy that I have been able to have a family. I doubt that any of my grandchildren mistake my femininity for anything but pure woman. If you have been given the gift of womanhood, cherish it. Polish it, and adorn yourself. Embellish your feminine characteristics and embrace them.
Be thankful, grateful, and proud.
I am woman, hear me roar!
Copyright©. 2022 Bonnie B. Matheson