A sexual woman is born

We live in the age of the metrosexual male. A metrosexual man is one who strives to be the most perfectly groomed, combed, toned, tanned, waxed, plucked, and well-dressed human of the male gender, who is absolutely and unequivocally not gay or guilty of any homosexual tendencies.

There is so much gender mixing these days that I am inclined to finally take a stand and publicly declare myself a “femasexual”. A sexual female is a millennial woman who has survived Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, Janet Jackson, and gay marriage licenses, only to find herself competing with the only remaining class of men who can date and mate: the metrosexual.

As a standout female, I’m ready to step on some pedicure-perfect metrosexual feet. Before I do, let me tell you that I like men who take care of themselves. But between men and women there are some lines that should not be crossed, and the guys who pluck, shape and raise their eyebrows is one of them. A manicure with colored polish is another.

It is an insult to a sexual woman when a metrosexual has softer, more toned and more polished skin than hers. Furthermore, any hint of enhanced coloration on a metrosexual’s cheeks, lips, and eyes is enough to drive a sexual female into a complete frenzy.

Metrosexuals are driving us women out of our spas and beauty salons. Not only do we have to compete for high-level positions in the workplace, for which we are still underpaid compared to our counterparts, we now have to compete for appointments for hair, skin and nails.

And to add insult to injury, metrosexuals have been known to tip better than sexual women.

Metrosexuals love to shop for state-of-the-art designer shoes, clothes, and bags to complement their hair, face, body, and sexy car. They also like to dabble in gourmet cooking and wine tasting. What could be more adorable than a collagen-enhanced, porcelain-skinned metrosexual in a designer apron stirring a pot of bouillabaisse in the kitchen?

On the other hand, TV commercials don’t see a metrosexual raising his perfectly manicured hands (and eyebrows) in delight at the wonders of the latest toilet scrubber. And a metrosexual wouldn’t be caught dead in a Super Wal-Mart with a shopping cart full of cleaning supplies, paper towels, or Pampers.

The sexual woman, on the other hand, does all of the above and something else. She bravely manages to fit her salon appointments between the mundane activities of everyday life. So when a sexual woman seeking a partner finds that his cosmetic priorities exceed hers, there is bound to be some friction. She may find the total self-absorption of the metrosexual to be a detour. And what’s the point of the countless nicks on your shins when you’re going to rub your freshly shaved, silky-smooth leg over your bedmate’s equally shaved, silky-smooth leg?

There really is no future, I’m afraid, for sexual femdom. Not only is she being overshadowed by the metrosexual man, but gay men are putting her to the pasture, who can hire sperm donors, marry and make a profit. Avoid cramps, tampons, and other feminine products; We can also have the uterus cut out and quickly freeze it for future generations.