I hate to say this, but I’m afraid sometimes my gender is insane.
During my 7 day trip, I did not meet a single friendly female. NONE. I met many nice men, but not a single nice woman. The girls I did meet-all fell into distinct and unfortunate categories.
I met the insecure, mean girls. The girls who spent 5 minutes at the bar with us smiling and then walked away to talk about my friend and I to other people- other insecure, mean girls. They only stopped talking about us when I walked over to them and was greeted with a dirty looks. Which was nice, I love a big bowl of awkward silence on day one of my holiday. I didn’t realize my plane flew me back to middle school girl drama.
I met the girl who refused to talk to anyone but her friends. The girl I waited at the airport with, who I saw on the plane, who stood in front of me at check-in. The girl I saw everyday, who couldn’t even crack a smile in return to the one I gave her. Who acted as though everyone but her friends were invisible, most likely because no one else put on eyeliner to sit on the beach.
I met the overly sexual to the point it’s embarrassing, girls. The girls who threw themselves at men who did not want them, who went all Fatal Attraction stalker style on guys, to the point it was shameful sad to watch. Who took pictures of guys who didn’t want their photo taken, who called guys who didn’t want to be called, who shared cabs with guys who wanted to ride alone. Girls who didn’t mind knowing they were a guys second, third and in one case- fourth choice for the evening when everyone else turned him down.
I met the girls who put everyone down to push themselves up. Who were rude and inconsiderate and so condescending you could almost see it oozing out their pores. Who could take any piece of information and turn it into a topic they (of course) knew more about.
I met the girls who were so uncomfortable in their own skin it left me exhausted. Girls who were constantly pushing down their swim top, or pulling on the towel. Girls who refused to lift their arms because they didn’t like the job the waxer did, girls who said “please don’t look at me”, in a panicked voice when they showed up in their bathing suit. Who missed out on doing things they wanted to do because they were scared they would get laughed at. These are the same girls who were quick to judge anyone else for what they were or were not wearing.
I met the needy girls. The girls who started calling our hotel room at 8:30am to ask what we were doing for breakfast and (by day 7) when we refused to answer, kept calling. As in, 5 calls before 11am. And when the calls went unanswered, they showed up at the door and started knocking. And then tried the door. And then chased us through the lobby to ask us where we were going.
See? I told you. Crazy.
The part that gets me is that I met a lot of nice guys. Young, old, single, not single- guys who spoke English, French or Spanish. Guys who talked about teaching and politics and jellyfish. Who held their own in conversation, who were interesting- who talked about ideas and ideals, not other people. Guys who said ‘hi!’ when they ran into you in the lobby, who wanted to get their picture with you. Men I never worried would begin talking about me poorly the second I left my chair.
Maybe it was just a bad mix of girls, but the whole experience left me a little disappointed. Women are often thought of as the more sensitive, thoughtful gender but this trip left me believing whoever believes that is sadly mistaken. Because by the last day, I would have rather taken my chances starting a conversation with a table of knife holding men in wrestling masks than face a table of girls I spent the last seven days with.
So I ask you readers, when did women get so crazy?