I am man. Big, strong. In a matter of months, I could be trained to be a killer of machine-like quality. I am descendent from those who killed for their food. I play army when I’m young. I am a captain, a colonel, a sergeant, a commander-in-chief. Yeah, I could be president. I could win the Stanley Cup, the Super Bowl. I sleep at night and dream of striking out the Yankee’s lineup. I watch my March Madness and instruct the movers on the screen. They too are men, so I can relate, understand, coach. We are men.

I have been a famous painter, a famous inventor, scientist. I fill the history books with my accomplishments. I steered ships and found new worlds. I dominated races and conquered untamed lands. I laugh with hearty depth, and drink beer and coffee. Things that taste bad, they are manly. I wear clothes to show off my manly figure. I lift heavy things to show that I am what I am. I get good jobs and go out afterward for drinks and cigars. I hire and fire. I have traded my spear and sword for the Palm Pilot and the pen. I am large and in charge. Nothing can stop me.

Except of course…

I am woman. Sure, I had my dolls and my fantasy lives. Sure, horses and rainbows and flowers were fun to draw. I gossip and giggle. But I am liberated. I need no one. God left nothing out of me when I was equipped. I can be a gymnast, a dancer, an ice skater. I can command the attention of the world with my beauty. My listening ear is a translator for converting my friends’ problems into empowering solutions.

I am left out of the history books, my labors since the beginning of time snubbed and forgotten. I have born billions of children without thanks. I have clothed the minions without recognition. But no more. I have set out to change all that. To rewrite history. I will not be muted. My voice is louder than ever. Now I smoke cigars and drink martinis. I hire and fire just the same. I rise to the top, shattering the glass ceiling, destroying the petty fantasies of the testosterone-filled beasts around me. I wear power suits, and peons now quake at the sound of my high-heeled shoes. I am woman, I am free, and I am equal. Nothing can stop me now.

Except of course…

She shakes my soul. I cry at sad movies. I find puppies cute.

I spend hours making myself pretty and all day planning what to wear.

Suddenly money is no object. Whatever she wants, I give. I just want to see her happy and; suddenly the bottom line isn’t the goal.

I get picture frames with cute sayings and dainty designs to hang his picture in. I daydream.

With a flip of her hair she makes me her subordinate. I will do anything to win her affection.

It’s when his eyes soften, and his hands slow, that I need him the most. He treats me with class – like a lady.

I call to check in. I run errands. I understand what feminine products really are. I hold her afterward and love the feeling of her hair on my face.

I want to be held afterward. I love how far he will go to prove I should keep him. But I know I can’t live without him.

What happened to me?

Where did I go wrong?

I found the only thing that could end my domination of life.

I found the only thing that could force me to revert to the wimpy women of old.

Women. Men.

Life’s roadblock. Successes hurdled.

My purpose for living. The love of my life.

God’s way of reminding us how great our differences can be.