The Job of a Boy. The Job of A Man. The View From a Girl.

In English, we read two articles. One was called “Girl” by Jamaica Kincaid and other was called “Boy” by Bret Johnston. These articles were completely stereotypes for each gender,  and expectancies for each gender, almost as if we are all living under separate stars.

The Job of a Boy. The Job of A Man. The View From a Girl, tells of the mental and physical progression of boys to men. Told from the perspective of a women, my version of “Boy” and “Girl” infers oppression felt by girls, however, told in the perspective of boys. Sometimes we do not see that there are kind men on this Earth. We do not see this because they are forced to act oppressive towards their counterparts. Or else they will be deemed “boys.” Notice the progression between the age groups. Notice the mentality change. Notice the daunting attitude.

Act abstract and dumb, act as if you will never impact society; think you are a person who just takes up another spot on Earth. Be obsessed with stupid rappers, and listen to them through your flagrant BEATS headphones. Ted Cruz is the peel of your banana, but the edible part of your fruit is truly vacillate. Ostentatiously, with your back hunched, and sweats clinging loosely to your skinny thighs, walk through every atrium in your brand new football cleats. Who cares if you actually play football? You’re just doing it to act as the magnets and attract us girls. When you text, reply with words along the lines of “yes,” “no” or “maybe.” Act as if the girls have to insert the tedious paragraphs. Apparently, someone nominated your job in life to act clueless, leaving us all the hard work.

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You’re still that clueless. Sure, you’ve learned what Ted Cruz truly stands for, and you’ve learned that your job is to produce change. You’ve come a long way, but you still have no idea how we feel. We’re the shoppers, and the cookers. When we’re at school on Tuesdays, we are known as the Pizza Moms. When you obtain a good job, and that cheerleader wife, make sure you buy her a Mom Car for Valentine’s Day. Save yourself some money, and go buy a Porsche. Act protective of your wife. You think she sucks at driving. Make sure she does too. You’re job is to critique and suppress; but what if I can’t critique and suppress women; then you might as well walk into the office with your football cleats from seventh grade.