Boys and Girls, again

Remember that weekend I was just referring to? The one where I watched some basketball? Well, without further ado, I think I shall introduce everyone to the UNC Tar Heels NEW NUMBER ONE FAN, none other than Carter Griffith!!! (alum of UVA.) Doesn’t he look lovely?

Ok. Now that we’ve gotten over that, let me continue with my ramblings, made even more thought-provoking from my present meal of an organic burrito that, sad to say, is as bland as its description. I digress, however, and want to go back to my little essay on Guys and Girls.

Or is it Boys and Girls?

Or Men and Women? I’m all confused.

WHAT are we?

Without quoting Britney’s new horrible song “not a girl, not yet a woman,” I still had a hard time naming that article. (And until I figure out what we are, I’ll be using “males” and “females” to distinguish…I think that should be clear enough…)

I don’t want to insult the males by calling them boys, but hmm…us females usually have crushes on BOYS, we tell our friends when we “kissed a BOY,” and some of us, myself NOT presently included, have BOYfriends. Yet ask any male if he likes being called a “boy” after age, say, 14, and the answer is usually a big resounding ‘hell no!’

OK. Point taken. You’re “GUYS” then…I have certainly met a few GUYS in my life, some more memorable than others (insert my famous gay anorexic/plus-sized model-caller/cat abuser story here.) I go on dates with GUYS, so yeah, I suppose that works. For now.

Onto females then. We haven’t been GIRLS for a while now, but we do often refer to “going out with the GIRLS.” Little girls play with dolls, and while there was a time that Ken was our main squeeze, we’ve happily conceded him to Barbie. Ok. So then are we “Ladies?” Makes me think of my grandmother’s generation, and also, acting like a “lady” brings memories of sitting silent, knees together, and knitting (or at least tying on our aprons.) Politeness is a virtue, and I am not negating that point, but there’s nothing more patronizing than being called “Little Lady,” especially if by a Stetson-wearing Dentist-needing Belt-lacking gas station attendant. (Certainly revs MY engines…)

Of the two, I’ll stick with “Girls.” That works. For now.

But what happens a few years from now? I doubt anyone would refer to me as a girl as I’m nearing my 40th birthday (which, thankfully, is more than 15 years away…but still. Back to my point.)

When do we go from “Guys and Girls” to “Men and Women?” I spoke to this in my High School graduation speech, asking when that moment is when we finally “grow up.” At that time, a wise-to-the world (so I thought) 17 year-old, I suggested it was when we got married or had kids. Now, I wonder, as that time is approaching sooner rather than later, and I can resolutely say that I have NO intention of growing up any time soon! Even the ladies on “The View” were talking about this on their show last week…when is that moment that you are officially a “woman” or a “man?” Without getting somber, is it when we take care of our parents through sickness, or find ourselves burying them? The thought alone frightens me so much. Yet if I were to get married in the next few years, I’d still feel like a little girl playing dress-up. There’s so much that I have yet to do, experience, see. I can’t imagine being 100% sure on the boy (uh, I mean, man) I choose to spend the rest of my life with when I’m faced with interminable buyer’s regret every time I buy a pair of overpriced Earl Jeans!

I suppose this is a rhetoric question I’m asking here, and one that will differ for each person and by their own unique experiences. But until further notice, I’m quite happy here as a girl.

Happy Thursday…wishing you FUN FUN FUN weekends (and wishing that I had Monday off!),


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s