Being a Girl

Rogers and Hammerstein wrote the song “I Enjoy Being a Girl” for the musical Flower Drum Song back in 1959. And while the role of women has changed greatly since then, I think most of us among the female of the species still feel that way. Most of the time.


Then there are the other times when we wonder just why it has to be so much trouble being a girl. Times like when you want to wear that “special something” for an event.
You want to look your best. Or to quote the song, “I adore being dressed in something frilly…”

So you search the closet for just the right thing to wear - mixing and matching pieces looking for the perfect combination. It has to be …. sexy, yet subtle ….. modern, but classic ….. both trendy and tasteful.

After hours of searching, you manage to put together an ensemble that fits all of the requirements …. and fits your body in its current state du jour. (You girls know what I am talking about here, don’t you? What fits perfectly one day may not fit so well the next.)

You check the outfit carefully and realize that your crisp white blouse, which is so perfect for this occasion, is neither crisp nor white in its current condition. You think …..”I love this blouse! Why haven’t I worn this lately?”

So off it goes to the washing machine, set to the gentle cycle of course, because a girl must take the very best of care when dealing with her wardrobe. Since you just did laundry yesterday, you are running a load of one item so you are overcome with guilt at the environmental damage you are doing. Yet, you do it anyway because you “enjoy being a girl” and that enjoyment comes at a cost.

Next, the now brilliant white blouse goes in the dryer in the hopes that it will emerge crisp and ready to wear to your special event. But when you open the dryer door a sight that strikes fear in the heart of every woman awaits you.

Yes, the white blouse needs….horror of horrors….IRONING!!!

Can somebody please tell me why the best makers, the top designers, the people we count on to help us look our very best, are seemingly unaware of the “permanent press” process that lesser manufacturers automatically include with every item of clothing?

You try to reassure yourself, “OK, no need to panic. You remember how to do this.” You set up the ironing board, wipe the dust off the iron, fill it with water, wait for it to heat up.

You carefully lay out the beloved blouse, admiring the excellent tailoring. Yes, the cut is perfect and the attention paid to detailing is amazing. This is a great blouse. Again you wonder, “Why haven’t I worn this blouse more often?”
You begin ironing. In spite of being slightly annoyed, you sing to yourself, ”I enjoy being a girl…”

But, damn. The curved seams won’t fit on the straight board. You turn and adjust and work the fabric to make it fit. You stretch the fabric, holding it in place just so, and reach for the small wrinkled areas …. and burn the crap out of your fingers in the process.

Now you remember why you haven’t worn this beautiful blouse in such a long time. Because it is a major league pain in the ass, that’s why!

Yet, you carry on. Because now you are committed. And determined. After all, your mother ironed everything, didn’t she? You tell yourself that you are not one to give up on anything so simple. You will not be defeated by this piece of clothing!

You work it, moving the fabric and the iron this way and that. You try the “zen method” of becoming one with the iron. No, that doesn’t work. So you try becoming one with the fabric. Nope, that doesn’t work either. So you resort to repeating the mantra. “I enjoy being a girl…”

Finally you finish the arduous task of ironing the beautiful blouse. Thinking you have won the battle, you hold it up to admire your work and see the ironed in wrinkle on one sleeve.

You glance at the clock. Your eyes go back to the blouse, and the iron, but your mind wonders. The image of the lighter in the kitchen drawer crosses your mind. This thought occurs: “This fabric may not be permanent press but I am willing to bet it is flammable.”

In the end, you realize there is no time to set fire to the beautiful blouse and call the fire department, even though a visit from a few hunky firemen might be an amusing distraction at this point. Instead you iron out that last wrinkle and put on the blouse. You finish dressing, do your hair and makeup, and head out the door looking wonderful.

You arrive at your event and head straight for the wine table. “Yes, I would love a glass of red!” You are looking good, feeling great, and totally ready to have a wonderful time.

Then some dude, who probably spent all of 10 minutes putting on this black slacks and long sleeve dress shirt, bumps you from behind. And it happens….

Nothing looks worse on a crisp white blouse than red wine. But all you can do is smile, accept his apology, and try to be graceful about it. Because you “enjoy being a girl.”

And next time you will try to remember to order the white instead.