Many of The LG Report's readers are literary minded (not you of course, but the others.) These people will remember the book "Black Like Me," an account written in 1961 of a white male who doctored himself up to look like an African American and then wrote about how he was treated as a black man in America at that time.
Well, LG, being a forward-thinking person who is not afraid to rip-off 50-year old ideas, has written this post about his one day as a female.
Yes indeed, LG, virile male stud that he is (in his own mind), pretended to be a woman (again, in his own mind) for a day and has written this account of said 24 hours.
Female readers: Please don't be offended and un-follow The LG Report after reading the rest of this post. But if you have to choose one or the other, be offended but don't un-follow The LG Report. LG loves women (his wife and sister are women, as a matter of fact) and would never intentionally offend them (if it meant losing followers.) And, of course, feel free to leave comments if you disagree with any of this....
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7 a.m. - Husband gets up for work. I pretend to be asleep until he leaves, then I promptly turn on the "Today Show" to see if any good make-over segments are on. None, so I go back to sleep for a while. How long? I don't know, what are you, the Sleep Police? Back off.
8:45 a.m. - I take my customary long bubble bath whilst reading "People Magazine" to catch up on the latest personal happenings of people who I don't know and will never know, but nonetheless feel like I should be kept up on their latest personal happenings. I hate Brad Pitt for dumping poor Jennifer Anniston. Angelina is such a bitch, I'll slap her if I ever meet her. I'd also kick her in her balls, since I'm sure she has a set.
9:10 a.m. - Muffy calls to invite me to lunch. I pretend like I might have something else to do while I keep her on hold for 90 seconds (I count each second out loud to make sure that I don't appear overly eager or available) before I tell her that I'd be glad to meet the girls at noon for salad.
10:03 a.m. - Teresa, my domestic ("maid" is such a dirty, non-PC word) shows up to clean my house. As per usual, I've totally cleaned the entire house myself the night before so that she doesn't think we're pigs.
11:36 a.m. - I put on my best pair of short shorts and a halter top with sufficient cleavage and stuff my new cute little pocketbook with all the essentials (Girls: you know what they are, we can't let the men know) before heading out to lunch.
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| Gotta look good if I'm pulled over for applying make-up. |
11:43 a.m. - While driving on a busy highway, I put on my mascara, lipstick, eye shadow and curl my hair. I also iron my blouse while wearing it (thank God for the car-lighter-plug-in-iron!) and spit shine my shoes. Three cars swerve into telephone poles while trying to avoid me but that's not my problem, I look good now.
12:00 noon - I stop at McDonald's to consume a #7 Meal (Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese) before lunch so that I don't feel hungry while eating a skimpy-little-not-fit-for-humans cottage cheese salad in front of my bitches...err, I mean friends.
12:15 p.m. - I'm stuck between Carol and Mindy, listening to them complain about their good-for-nothing bastard husbands. When the check comes, we divvy it up fairly, with me paying an extra 37 cents because I had a side of onion with cottage cheese salad. That bitch Mindy gets off paying $1.23 less than me because she ordered the house dressing instead of the blue cheese, which she ordinarily chugs like it was water. What a fat pig. Her ass has its own zip code. But you didn't hear that from me. And Carol gets stuck paying an extra 95 cents for the bacon in her salad. I love it!
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| The party starts here. |
1:55 p.m. - Before I leave the restaurant, I need to use the Ladies. I discreetly call my friends Cindy, Lisa, Wendy, Bridgette and Jen, knowing that I can't go to the Ladies by myself. They all show up and we enter the restroom together, where we sit on the couch and catch up on our kids' soccer team results and our personal sexual fantasies for a half hour before I actually go into the stall. Men don't realize, but each women's room in America is social gathering place more than a shit-atorium. I've never seen a man call his friends to meet him in the restroom. Men are such Neanderthals.
2:03 p.m. - I return home, disappointed to find that the pool boy is not there yet to clean my pipes. I mean, "our pool." No point in undressing in front of the picture window if he's not around. I change my pocketbook to my grocery store version (big pockets for coupons, most of which are expired) and head out to buy our weekly staples.
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| I always forget that you have to pay when you get to the front. |
3:30 p.m. - I'm at the local grocery store in my tight warm-up suit, hoping that the hot produce clerk will notice me. I checked the mirror before I left home: No panty lines. But the produce clerk is missing in action. He must be hanging out with the pool boy. I gather $332.43 worth of groceries into my cart. When I finally, get up to the cashier, I casually start to look for my checkbook, as if I didn't realize all along that money would be expected of me. No rush in my mind. But my checkbook is nowhere to be found. I must've left it in my other pocketbook, the one I used at lunch. I apologize to the cashier and agree to put back all the items in my cart where they belong. I put back the first two items back in their respective places and then leave the cart in Aisle 7. Still no sign of the produce clerk.
4:05 p.m. - I arrive home and start watching my DVR'd television shows, all designed to enrich my life. After viewing every episode of the "Real Housewives of New York, Atlanta, New Jersey and Orange County" I finally resort to checking out "The Real Housewives of Ames, Iowa." Hey, it's better than you think. Still no pool boy. Bastard.
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| I forgot to mention that we don't have a pool. |
5:30 p.m. - Husband gets home and I inform him that I was too busy today to cook dinner. We order in Chinese. My fortune cookie tells me that I have "Earned a restful period and should take it easy." Husband's fortune cookie said something, but I didn't listen, all I know is that he finished it with "...in bed" and I ignored him since I only sleep in bed with him these days. I wonder if the pool boy is still on his way?
