Envy? Ya think?
Cats: Ilona's Take|I’m so glad I don’t have a penis!
Really. Those little buggers are nothing but trouble. They rise when there’s no occasion. What teenage boy hasn’t mastered the casual textbook-in-front-of-the-crotch move? Yes, teenage girls have periodic radical nipple action, but boys? It’s all.the.time.
Occasionally, they don’t rise when there is an occasion. This is more the problem of older men than younger, but performance anxiety can hit anyone.
Penises have more say in things than they should.
Recall that James Bond movie (was it GoldenEye?), when M, played by Judy Dench, is suggesting a more moderate course of action to a room of war-mongering, testerone-driven men. One sneers at her. “Perhaps, M, you don’t have the balls for this job.”
(Oooooo… That’ll put the estrogen-alien in her place.)
She fixes him with the Icy Stare and spits out, “Perhaps not. But that means I don’t have to THINK with them.”
Yes, we women have our hormonal ebbs and flows, but you can sort of predict them, work around (or with!) them. That whole penis thing? It’s ALWAYS there. Their whole life long… Flipping and flopping, rising and falling, dribbling and squirting.
The angst of the penis. That old notion “Penis Envy”? Male wish-fulfillment. They want to believe we’re all dying for one. If we can’t have one of our own, we’ll share theirs.
You wish.
The ecstatic man drops his lawnmower and bounds off down the street. His adoring wife gazes fondly. The man in the next yard punches the air. More fond wifely gazing. Yet another man throws both hands into the air, face radiating a joy matched only by the woman watching from the porch.
You’ve all seen this ad, no? An entire street of men of a certain age, all returned to studliness thanks to the Power of Pharmaceuticals. (An entire street doing the victory dance? This suggests a whole neighbourhood of men whose compasses can’t find north. What was in the water, anyway?)
Why do men care so much?
Because there is no fudging for them. Women can fake it. Men? It’s either up, or it’s not. There is no faking that. There is a middle ground… but everyone knows it’s kind of pathetic.
How could you envy this?
When they’re not worrying about keeping it down when it wants to be up, or getting it up when it’d rather be down, then there’s the whole size issue.
Judging from the contents of my spam folder, size is a biggie. Men are firmly convinced that women crave immensity. Well, enough of them believe to keep the spammers spamming, which, again judging from my spam folder, is a lot.
Size… function… strength… mind-control… general unruliness…
SO glad not to have one of these things. I quite enjoy playing with one from time to time — but to have to be the owner-operator, 24/7? No, thanks.
Oh, and then there’s his “intravaginal ejaculatory latency time”*. Sometimes the boy just pops his cork a little too soon. (*Yes! That’s what it’s called! Isn’t that ROMANTIC??)
Those who want to make a boatload of cash from this have researched it carefully tell us that a solid 30 - 40% of men suffer premature ejaculation. “Pfft,” say I. What nonsense… but, nonsense or not, as soon as those figures go public, you just know that there will be men lining up to take a pill that will make them hold out longer.
Because if bigger is better! Stronger is better! Longer is better, too!
I just don’t buy it. And I’m so glad I never will. Because women’s parts are neatly tucked away. Private. Discreet. You’re the only one who needs to know the state of your nether bits. You’re the only one who needs to know if, when, and how long you’re humming. There is no audience.
Which is one — only one and rather minor — of very many reasons I’d much, much rather be a girl.
