Confessions of a Girl-Boy

Gender Studies Month continues here at Slimbolala:

I have a confession. I’m a girl-boy. No, no, not some Eugenidesian biological anomaly. And I ain't no wussie "girlie-man" either. I possess all the true manly virtues:

• I'm a good father to my children.
• I'm a good husband to my wife.
• I can pack a U-Haul with vicious efficiency.
• I once built a barn.*
• I study maps for fun.
• I have a little thingy on my keychain with lots of tools (including real manly tools like pliers and bottle openers, not just girlie stuff like nail files and scissors).

It's just that many of the things I think about and talk about and care about are things that traditionally fall under the Domain of the Ladies:

• I can’t bring myself to give a damn about sports.
• I cut hair, well, specifically my hair (no Supercuts for me, thank you very much). And when I do, I collect the trimmings on the unread Sports section.
• I'm Decorator in Chief at our house.
• I like to talk about people.
• I don’t like to talk about investment strategies.
• I collect demitasses.
• I spend way too much time thinking about things like fashion-space.
• I drink white wine spritzers (oh, wait - that's Euro).
• I do yoga.
• I have no idea what I bench press.

And I know I'm not the only one. I see you others out there with your subtly well put-together outfits and your easy rapport with women. It's time to own your girl-boyness. Throw open your windows and tell the world. I am girl-boy. Hear me roar!

What'd you say? Are you making fun of me? Shut up. I'll kick your ass!

* Well, technically, I might have had some help with this one, but let's not quibble.