There are advantages to being raised with mostly boys. I can be prissy when I want, but I can also get muddy and ride four-wheelers. I can care about fashion and make-up, but still wear jeans and a flannel shirt with my hair in a ponytail and not care about curling irons, flat irons and tweezers (I am not afraid to sport the unibrow). I can talk to guys like a guy (even if they sometimes forget I am a girl and we check out hot chicks together), I have beaten a room full of beer drinkers in a burping contest, and they give me the inside scoop on the way men work. In fact, I have always preferred to be in a room full of goofy guys than a room full of catty girls. And, I think, this has made me a well-rounded woman (if not, completely unattractive and is the predominant reason I was single for six years).
HOWEVER…what happens to guys when they spend too much time growing up with girls??
Let me show you:
My boys. I claim them because I don’t know many other people who would. And because I can’t imagine my life without them.
(We WILL NOT discuss how much better Tony looks in my jeans than I do.)