The Truth About Women

I am one of those people who doesn't cry when you are expected to (say at your own wedding), but will become an emotional basket case during a movie scene that no one finds sentimental in the least. It's kind of weird and even I can't predict its coming.

I have sat through countless romantic movies and really enjoy them, but their lines just don't resonate. Today, however, I watched "Bridesmaids" for the second time on television. And for the second time, I cried at a part that will never be hailed as an iconic movie moment. Justin even looked at me and said, "Why are you crying at this part? It's supposed to be funny."

For those of you that have seen it, it's at the end when Annie has hit rock bottom and has taken residence at her Mom's home. She's watching "Castaway," crying, when the big, broad, hilarious Megan comes in and begins beating her up, shouting loudly that she represents "life." And then-- the girl who hasn't said anything of substance the whole movie-- says to Annie:

"You got another best friend sittin' right in front of you, if you'd notice! You can stop feeling sorry for yourself, okay? Cause I do not associate with people that blame the world for their problems. Cause you're your problem, Annie. And you're also your solution."

So it's not Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca material, but it gets me every time. The whole movie does actually. Because I can so relate. And why? Because the movie is the ultimate (and sadly fairly realistic) portrayal of a truth I have realized: Girls intentionally and unintentionally make each other more miserable than any guy could ever hope to accomplish.

Justin comes home today and I walk out with no make-up on, mismatched pajamas, my glasses on and my hair pulled up in a non-brushed ponytail that tilts severely to the left side. He sees me every day, business attire, hair at least sort of dried, make-up hiding my acne scars, but chooses this moment to look at me like I'm a babe.

It's then that it hits me: I don't put make-up on to impress him. I can be boasting bright red lips and he will still ask me, "Is your make-up on? Are you ready to go?" I don't cinch my waist with a belt made in Satan's workshop so that he will know my waist is smaller than the rest of my body. I don't even put on perfume so that he will find my aroma alluring-- I'm just flattered when he asks if I took a bath and I really didn't.

I do all of this for women.

I do it for the women who somehow look at a couture magazine and find identical pieces at TJ Maxx and rock it for $30. Question: Do they spend 20 hours in the store? I'm usually lucky if I find a pair of brand name jeans that don't have a crooked pocket.

I do it for the women who own five shedding Golden Retrievers and still manage to have less hair on their couches than me.

I do it for the stick-thin women in that stupid Chico's commercial advertising slimming pants.

I do it for the women who only post hair tutorials and have 20,000 blog followers (Hurts!)

I do it for the women who will always host a better shower.

I do it because I can look cute walking out the door and two minutes into a shopping trip, feel like I'm wearing rags.

And apparently I'm not alone: Six out of ten women aged between 18 and 30 said they had their girlfriends in mind when they chose what to wear on a big night out. Sorry boutcha boys. But that's the truth.

It's crippling if you let it be. And I must say that I have.

And Megan's character is right. I am the problem. I often project other women's thoughts on me that probably don't even come up in their minds. But, if we're being honest, it's probably just something that I've been guilty of thinking about someone else.

So it's time to start owning up to the problem: me. And finding the solution. And accepting a happiness that fitting into skinny jeans will not bring.

And working to impress the ones that'll claim you in your old college sweat pants that have started forming mysterious fuzzies that are begging you to throw them out.