Ms. Neilochka

Because of the well-oiled media machine that loves this stuff,  I’m sure you’ve heard of the controversial book, Self-Made Man, by journalist Norah Vincent.  In it, Ms. Vincent dresses up as a man to explore what life is like as the opposite sex.   The reviews have been mixed,  especially in view of the author’s "shocking" revelations:

Strip joints are about "pure sex drive – completely empty of any meaningful interaction."

OR

Male sexuality is "a bodily function. It’s a necessity. It’s such a powerful drive and I think because we [women] don’t have testosterone in our systems, we don’t understand how hard it is."

You can hear her being interviewed here.

Like Ms. Vincent, I’ve always been curious about what makes the opposite gender tick.  What is it that makes women so mysterious?  So sexy?  How do they view us?  What hardships do they have to go through on a daily basis that I, as a male, can never understand?

Today, I found out.  I went undercover as a woman.

I woke up early in the morning to begin my experiment.   Luckily, Sophia had left some of her clothes over at my apartment. Like Robert De Niro in Raging Bull, I was going to get completely into my character. 

I started by putting on a pair of Sophia’s cotton panties, the cute ones that say "If You Can Read This, You’re Getting Laid" on the ass.   Next was picking the outfit, which wasn’t as easy as I expected.  I once saw a neighbor on the second floor wearing the same Donna Karan dress that Sophia left in the closet, so there was no way I was going to wear it today.  What if I met the neighbor in the elevator and we were wearing the same outfit?!  How embarrassing. 

I finally settled on this perfect little black dress that Sophia found at Nordstrom.  It was simple, but chic.  It also did wonders for my figure.  Girl, you don’t want to hear about my hips since I drank all that egg nog at Christmas!  Don’t worry, soon I’m going to start that New Years’s resolution and go to the gym.  Yeah, right.

The best part of my outfit were my new shoes.  Ladies, look and weep!

After I was dressed, I grabbed my purse and headed out.  I decided to start my experiment at my local Ralphs Supermarket.  Would I be treated there any differently as a female than I had been as a male?

As I went up and down the aisles, I made sure that I only  bought gender-specific products:  low-fat yogurt, low-fat ice cream,  low-fat milk, Kotex, and Soap Opera Digest.  I did buy one small package of regular Oreos, but don’t tell the others at Weight Watchers.

At the check-out counter was a real hunk.  He was a good-looking young Latino with strong arms and sparkling blue eyes.  He scanned my items and I took out my VISA.  As I swiped my credit card, I noticed that he was staring at me.

"So, this is what its like to be a woman." I thought.  "To be a constant object of a man’s animal-like lust."

"I.D.," he said.

Suddenly, I realized I had a problem.  As I rubbed my chin, which is a nervous tic of mine,  it occurred to me that I had forgotten to shave and I had three-day old stubble. 

I handed him my I.D.

"Neil Kramer?"

"Yes."

"You look very different here."

"Oh, that’s a terrible photo of me anyway!  I never come out good in photos.  I always look so fat!"

"Excuse me for asking.  But, uh, Neil Kramer, are you a lady?"

I knew I had to lie.  Or my experiment would be ruined.

"Yes, I am.  And that’s Ms. Kramer to you,"

"It says here on your I.D. that you’re a man."

"Maybe you need glasses, sir."

"I don’t need any glasses.   Do you have another photo I.D.?"

"I resent the way you’re being condescending to me just because I’m a woman."

"Listen, you’re a dude, man."

"Oh, so why are you looking at my cleavage?"

"You have no cleavage.  You’re as flat as a tortilla."

"Misogynist!"

"What?  What the hell does that mean?  Is that some sort of insult about me being Mexican?"

"Oh, I heard about you Mexican guys.  You talk a good game, but three minutes in the sack and you go "adios, muchacha."

"I’ll show you adios, muchacha, you bitch!"

The Ralphs check-out guy jumped over the counter and threw himself at me.

"What the… Help!  Help!  This man is attacking a woman!"

‘You’re no fucking woman.  You’re loco, man.  Loco."

"Help!  Rapist!  The feminists are right!  They’re all rapists!  Men are all rapists!  Police!"

Luckily, there were three LAPD officers in the supermarket, buying a box of Krispy Kremes.  They jumped the check-out guy and knocked him out with a taser gun.  BZZZZ.

One of the cops was nice enough to comfort me.

"You’re OK now, Miss.  He’ll be out for quite a while." he said, as he pinched my ass.  "By the way, what are you doing later for dinner?"

MY CONCLUSION:  Men are Pigs.