Girlie Girls

I am a "girlie girl". I always have been. That's just how my mother raised me. I don't like to get dirty and I see no reason to ever jog or run unless someone is chasing me with a gun or chainsaw. I have had too many abusive P E teachers in my life to consider volleyball as anything else but a form of punishment.

I know women can be tough and I have, at times, had to suck it up and be a little tough myself . My sister pierced my ears before the ice had time to numb them. I walked around on a broken foot for two weeks before I knew it was broken. I gave birth, naturally, three times. The third one was nine pounds and my doctor hadn't even shown up yet. I know a woman can do anything she has to do, but why volunteer?

For instance, women in combat. Sure she can do it, I have no doubt about that. But it wouldn't be all that comfortable at certain times, if you know what I mean. She couldn't just call in sick, have a glass of wine and watch her soaps.

A few ears ago, my husband and I were youth directors at our church. We, along with two other couples, took the youth group camping over night at a nearby campground. My friend, Debbie, chose one of the primitive sites for us and as the kids and husbands were setting up tents we went looking for facilities (out houses). She told me she wasn't feeling well and had a yeast infection. I said why in the world did you pick a primitive sight? I mean what could be worse, right?

That night a huge thunderstorm rolled in and seemed to last for hours. We were soaked to our bones, and all packed into the one tent left standing. It had been sprayed by a cat and smelled like a litter box. Frightened, wet and suffocating from the stench, all I could think about was, poor Debbie has a yeast infection. No woman should ever have to live like that.