The Metamorphosis

The first day I walked into the office I now work in I remember being a woman-I distinctly remember wearing a sexy black suit with high heels-make up-jewelry the whole freakin shebang. I was sweet as honey, when they addressed me I blushed, and I was so compliant to everything that I would make a Geisha look aggressive. Fast forward 4 years-4 years of sitting amongst 10 men and 3 women that might as well have been men and I find myself in the most peculiar state of being. I can now say that although I don’t remember when exactly it happened, I now know for sure that on a theoretical level at least, I have become a man. On the phone I yell and curse like a sailor when something goes wrong-When they make dirty jokes I not only understand the innuendos but I add some of my own. When a hot woman comes in I check out her weight first, then her outfit (if she’s not wearing a skirt the standards become automatically stricter) then her face –if its not that pretty I just ignore it and go for the body-and if she doesn’t have a hot body or a pretty face I ignore her existence. I do the same for men-I check them out-literally check them out- and I must have such a sleazy look on my face that my friend that sits next to me reprimands me on a regular basis. I found myself being nicer to the men that look good on a particular day and I don’t acknowledge anyone that’s less hot than the hottest guy of the day. I also scratch my belly-an odd looking belly that has the attributes of an amateur beer belly. Now when I stretch I don’t stretch my arms way over my head with my spine being nice and straight and my breasts all pointing forward like the Guns of Navarone-no- I stretch like a 40 year old sexless married man that’s been sleeping on a couch for the past decade-I lean back in my chair and kinda stretch my arms a bit backward-not too much out of fear of a potential muscle cramp- and make a noise-a freakin whale like noise-a whale that’s old and dying.