Recently, I had a collision with another cyclist. When I stood up to him about his aggressive riding, he pedalled off, shouting, "I bet you wish you were a man!" I shot back, "I don’t, but I bet you do."
Still, this exchange got me thinking about how much easier it is to be a bloke. Not only would I score more pay and promotions, but my phone conversations would take 30 seconds, tops. Hairdressers wouldn’t charge me triple for a trim. I’d never have to worry about stray chin hairs or shave anything below the epiglottis, including no more of that painful pubic deforestation. I’d even have a choice about whether or not to grow a moustache.
