TIME magazine's girl man of the year!

Despite what professional body builders/construction foremen/investment bankers/hairdressers/my parents/second grade girls might say, I think I'm a man. For a handful of years now I've consistently thought of myself as a man; even a gentleman, if you'll allow me to briefly pat myself on my own chivalrous back. But recently I was given a reason to doubt the idea that I am, in fact, of the gender I've convinced most people of over the years.

The root cause of this confusion was a health insurance seminar/presentation at work. Our insurance provider through our employer was going to be different, come the new year, and so the new company sent a representative to go over some of the changes that would be taking place in our health insurance policy. I don't like to toot my own horn, but I think I do a damned fine job of showing interest and looking like I'm paying attention, even though you can practically see every other word bull charge my skull and be deflected by my impressively thick and stubborn head. I nod, look concerned when the tone of the speaker seems to become more serious, and I smile and chuckle when I sense that whoever is talking is trying to make a joke, and with a health insurance representative, expect something about as dry as day-old dog shit. I think I remember one of this guy's punch lines being something along the lines of "because you sure wouldn't want to pay out of pocket for an emergency room visit and still have the entirety of your $1,000 deductible to pay off when your plan could cover 75% of the cost for a trip to an urgent care clinic... am I right?". I smiled dutifully and did one of those quick-exhale-through-the-nostrils laughs.

But then he started going over insurance coverage scenarios that primarily involve women; specifically mammograms, pap smears, pregnancy and maternity leave. This is terrific and appropriate, especially since a good majority of the staff where I work are women. So, imagine my amazement when he appeared to make deliberate eye contact with me, and address me personally when mentioning the benefits of "preventive care" and going in for the above mentioned "mammograms" and "pap smears". He even ambled in my direction, not losing the eye contact, when going over the pregnancy and maternity topics for approximately the 8th time. His look and demeanor said to me "YOU are obviously the person I need to get the point across to the most: Get a breast exam and stock up on sweat pants and cheesecake, because everyone here already knows that you are pregnant female with lumpy boobs!" (no disrespect to women who actually suffer from breast cancer. Just making a point.). Now, the fact that I have a decent sized rack-o-lamb for a guy is beside the point, and I was just huffed up about it enough to pause him in the middle of his speech, explain to him that nearly every other person in the room was a woman, but NOT myself... but I didn't. I simply nodded, like I had been the entire time, and began to think "Well, this man is a professional. I'm sure he knows what he's talking about. I guess I should have a long face-to-face with my genitals when I get home tonight. I think they each have some explaining to do.".

I've since reaffirmed some confidence in my masculinity. For instance, each bottle of Herbal Essences shampoo I use is of a brutish, manly colour, like citrus orange and a bright forest green; the specific fragrances are inconsequential... there, see? That was totally a guy-like statement. So mothers, lock up your daughters, because as soon as I'm comfortable enough to wean myself away from bi-weekly Brazilian waxes and go jogging without an appropriately durable sports bra, I will be on the prowl!