Love and Erection

Sweary

I said in Wednesdays post that a marriage proposal is like a penis-for-the-day, it would be nice to have one, but it’s not really necessary.

Y’see, I refuse to believe that there isn’t a woman out there who’d like to be a man for the day (not counting the brave women who’ve already been “men”). I would love to be a man for the day. Maybe even a week. Not long enough to go carving me initials into any glass ceilings, mind you. I’d just like to know, even fleetingly, what it’s like to have a knob.

Seriously. I’d go on a proper knoberama. First I’d have a wee from the other end of the bathroom, then I’d have a wank, and then I’d have an orgy. Honest to God. I’d wander the byroads of Ireland, twinkling at the lovely girls, walking funny and finally understanding the difference between trunks and boxers in terms of support and crotch rot. I’d have a… ahem… ball.

I’d sculpt my stubble, go around topless, and fart at will. I’d spit and say uncouth things like, “Brace yerself, Jacinta, I’m going in.”. I’d look at porn with my friends and guffaw at the misogyny. I’d eat many pies without scales-related tears. I might even try to find my prostate. It would be marvellous.

And although at the end of it I’d be looking forward to returning to empathy, bitching and wearing inappropriate shoes, I’m sure it would be the best week of my life. Imagining being able to holiday as the opposite sex, and not just with a carrot in yer knickers or a trunk of your elderly aunt’s clothes! You lot would love it too… wouldn’t you?

Go on outa that. You would.

And Swe.Ge wouldn’t mind, before someone delves gleefully into smartarsery. He’d just be glad to have someone to play Scalextric with.