Why do they always insist on mocking girls for carrying so much stuff and then beg them to carry something else for them? It's the old, "oh, but Kim's got a bag, of course she can carry my apple" routine. What if Kim has her own apple to carry? What if Kim also has two library books and sunscreen and a spare sweater to carry? Oh, no worries, mate, there's always room for one more ________.
It's not that I'm unhelpful. I'm quite helpful, actually. I'm happy to helpfully correct your grammar till the cows come home, or helpfully point out all the puns you've made and missed, or even helpfully look for cars as we cross the street (Forgive me if I miss one occasionally, though. Car spotting is not my strong suit.). In all fairness, I'm also quite helpful on the "help, I need a Band-Aid/Tylenol (aka Panadol)/Tums/tampon/Kleenex/spare plastic bag/extra pen/etc" uptake. I'm happy to share those things that are really vital in life. But lay off of my blue suede mints.
I don't know if it's nature or nurture, but I've grown up stingy. Whether it was a father who meticulously kept every receipt to later record or a mother who insisted Wal-Mart clothes were good enough, I hate to part with my money. Or my mints.
I've been known to open my mints just before seeing friends in order to avoid having to share them round. One person I can generally handle; a gaggle and we'll all suffer bad breath together, thank you very much. Oh, what? You have a piece of gum? For me? Sure, I'd love some, thanks.
Isn't it terrible? I'm such a mooch. A stingy mooch, which surely occupies one of those seven levels of hell. Surely closer to the top than, say, child abusers, though, right? Right?
What ever happened to briefcases? Didn't men use to carry them? Didn't they use to be places to stock important papers, to be sure, but also whatever else didn't fit nicely into the back pocket?
Even man-bags I can appreciate. Though done wrong they send off alarming tree-hugging hippie vibes (particularly when coupled with an overdone Movember extravaganza); done right, I don't see how boys live without them. Oh, right. They find a girl and stick to her like glue.
And furthermore, whatever happened to the days of chivalry? The days of actually carrying something for a woman? Those days are turned completely upside down now as most men in my life look to me to carry not only my own things, but theirs as well. If you want to talk equality, let's at least leave it there -- you carry your things, I'll carry mine.
You don't hear me complaining about my bag. Sure, it's heavy. Sure, it's probably bad for my back. Sure, I'd like a massage. But am I the one who mentions these things? No. It's always the boy who playfully picks up my bag, then immediately sets it down with the obligatory, "what have you got in there?!" exclamation. Oh, just girl stuff, I say. You wouldn't understand.
Now there are a few caveats. If we're good friends and on a fairly standard gum swapping basis, all bets are off as far as gum borrowing goes. You're allowed. Ummm. I can't think of anyone who falls into this category.
If we're good friends and not on a fairly standard gum swapping basis, all bets aren't off, but you're allowed anyway, I suppose, on the basis of I Am a Very Nice Friend. I just get to complain about it. 99% of my friends fall into this category.
And if you're a cute boy borrowing gum because you're angling to kiss me and assume I'm more likely to be amenable to my own flavor of gum than yours, then be my guest. I'll put your service to the test. 1% or less of my friends fall into this category.
But otherwise, back off, boys. It's my gum. In my bag. And no, I won't carry that boulder for you, no matter how much you beg or how un-Christian you try to make me feel. Get your own bag, buster. Mine's full.
*Unfortunately, this post is not a cultural reference. Boys sadly seem to be the same the world over in this regard. And many others, come to think of it.
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