How, exactly, do women think?

A lot of men tell me they wish more women would think like I do. But the thing is, I don’t know any women who don’t think like I do. I don’t fancy myself unique in any way, except that I happen to have the time on my hands to write it down.

In fact, on the darker days in my psyche, I think if you met my friends, you’d see that I’m the fucking Tito. They’re all either smarter, equally cute or cuter, equally funny or funnier, good writers, more talented, sexier, more aware of world events and pop culture, more confident and assertive, better cooks, more stylish/domestic, better home decorators, more maternal, or just generally better adults. (And I’m counting the friends who are 8 years younger than I am. By the time they’re my age, they’re going to rule the world.)

You’re not gonna catch them being whiny little bitches talking about their feelings and their vaginas on a blog, drinking coffee in Care Bears pajamas at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday. They’re out doing real shit: rockin’ the job, the house, the marriage, the kids, the Insanity workouts, all while maintaining fabulous hair. My bitches mean bid-ness, y’all. Stick with me, I’ll show you how we do.

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