“Isn’t it more fun being a guy!?” he shouted over the roar of the engine.
We were on a fishing yacht, pulling tuna and dorado out of the Pacific, just off the coast of Guatemala. There was much rah rah man-o hunting/killing excitement going on certainly, but I was a girl doing all the same fun stuff, having all the same fun as the guys, even if I was outnumbered 10 to 1.
No, I thought, feminist hackles raising, it’s every bit as much fun being a girl as it is being a guy! I’m here, I’m a girl, I’m having a blast! Girl power, etc!
Then I started my period.
Miles out to sea, a week early and totally unprepared. I had to pull the little foam triangle out of my bikini top and stuff it in my pants. Because I’m a professional, goddammit.
So yeah, it’s probably a little more fun being a guy. Don’t let it go to your heads.*
*yeah, I said “heads,” plural. Don’t pretend your business ain’t ruled by nature.