Sugar, Spice and Puppy Dog Tails

I like boys. Can't help it. Something about the cocky swagger. The 'I'm in control' outward personna masking an 'I'm scared shitless' inner turmoil. Yes, sometimes they can get pretty...what's the best word?...hmmm....dull. Yes, that's it--dull. Yet, nevertheless, their innate predictability is a comfort in an everchanging world. Boys want to know the answers. They will often act as if they do. Boys want to show the world they are tough but, at the same time, are desperate to open up to whomever they feel won't laugh at them. Boys giggle when they fart. Boys will often try to blame it on the dog (cat, child, neighbour, cooking etc.). Boys are sucks when they are sick. Boys will always work harder (even when doing the same job) as their colleagues, workmates, partners, lovers.... and, Boys will always have bigger scars, bigger losses, bigger near wins, bigger stories then those around them. Boys will fight for their independence as long as they never really have to be alone. Boys know things. Some of which are useful. Boys gossip. Boys engage in competitive public school type games with each other. Boys like to flirt. Boys will be able to perform complex physical and mental maneuovers but, are oft times unable to notice shit under the toilet seat. Boys are imperfect and will use this to their advantage. Boys would rather avoid talking about a subject if a drag down knock out tickle fight will work instead. I like boys. I married a boy. I used to wish I was a boy. In my early public school days, when the boys played against the girls to see who could rule the snowhills left by the parking lot ploughs, I worked to knock down the girls. They were easy marks. So I thought. They just played by different rules. I grew up with three brothers. I would much rather climb a tree and hook a worm than play with dolls or dress up. From early spring to the end of autumn I remained muddy. My brothers would only let me play with them if I didn't cry. I used to think I was a terrific soccer goalie until I realized that they were purposefully kicking the ball to my face in order to get me to bawl. I lost my top baby teeth when I acted as back catcher and one of my brothers swung the bat into my mouth (an accident...hmmm). In grade 5, a group of us were playing touch football when I missed the ball and it pounded my face. It hurt. I felt tears well up but, I refused to cry. 'I'm ok,' I shouted. 'Let's keep playing.' I saw what I thought to be respect on the faces of my team-mates. I was 'one of the boys.' Then L got hit. She was grazed really. It wasn't as if it was full on. But, all of a sudden, she started to cry. Great, thought I. Silly girl. But then, one by one the boys on the field ran towards her. Someone tossed me the ball. I was suddenly alone on the field. Everyone was comforting her. The foot ball game was over. The gender game, for me at least, had really just begun.