But we do.
We talk about how tiny their dicks are or what positions they tried.
In fact we probably talk about sex MORE than guys.
We're women.
Talking is like breathing to us.
So when I went to a girls night the other night the stories were flying.
"Do you wanna see a picture of him?"
'Of course!'
I scrolled through my phone & then showed her.
'Wait. I know him. Is that James? You hooked up with JAMES??!?'
I nodded, growing a little concerned.
"How do YOU know James?" I asked.
'I've know him for years! His mother shot my brothers wedding photos!'
Holy small fucking world, Batman.
At least I didn't inadvertently score sloppy seconds from one of my Bestie's.
They were someone's sloppy seconds, to be certain, and fifths and twenty-sixes, but at least those were some other girls.
Not ones I would be tagging in selfies later that night.
The week had been a surprising one.
I cut all my hair off, a cropped curly bob, which makes me undeniably "cute."
Which is curious because if there's one thing a girl hates being categorized as it's being cute.
We want to be beautiful, to be sexy, gorgeous, stunning.
Being cute is like being Miss Congeniality.
Nobody worships that.
Regardless, shedding nine inches of hair made me feel like a new woman.
I felt empowered.
Changed.
Maybe because my hair hadn't been that short for five years.
Maybe it's because I remembered the kind of girl I was five years ago.
All I know is the day I cut my hair I went on a date.
And when that was a dud I found myself another date.
And that one was a pinch more fun.
You see as much as people want to pretend looks don't matter, they do.
And how we feel is often influenced by how we look.
And change brings more change.
And thank fucking god.
Because the man drought of the holidays was an epic bore.
The new year has already surprised me.
And oh, how I do love surprises.
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