TOKEN MALE

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A Token Male Wonders Aloud About Office Birthdays

Recently I have been questioning whether I have been around women for too long.

You see, I am the "Token Male" in a sea of female energy, yet my own Moon is in Pisces. Bloody hell! No wonder I pick up on both menstrual pain and pre-period angst. Every week it seems. I feel like "the Apprentice" yet I did not intend to train and quest as a female.

It's crossed my mind that that I am paying off some really serious karmic debt. My Sagittarius rising sign speaks to me - shooting my intuitive arrows true and straight. See what I mean, ladies? My feminine is openly operating. Could you see me talking like this on the factory shop floor with the boys at coffee break? I think not. Now, that might sound like instinctual fear of losing what maleness I have left. Oh God - Sorry, oops, I mean, Goddess, help me… Please, Please, Please.

Hey, listen; I not am having any doubts about my hetero center. Let's get that clear right from the start. However, do not be surprised if I use token female phrases that help describe how I feel to the female reader.

I think it is important to set the scene. I am the only male in an office of 14 staff. Yes, without very much grey matter chattering to life you immediately get the 13 to 1 ratio. Oh yeah, plus a female fish called Lola. Mind you, I have a real connection with her. She speaks to me in ways that bypass the external and can interestingly touch my heart in an instant. Thanks, Lola.

I really feel the vanishing gender gap. I have lived all over the world and traveled extensively. I have even been a token parent to six children of various ages (so far?) I happily provide the space and sanctuary for a breast-feeding mother/colleague without batting an eye. I have seen enough carnage for five lifetimes. Nevertheless, when someone said recently "did you know that in April we have three birthday's" I momentarily froze.

You see, I know what comes next. Emails, emails, emails, emails, emails, emails, emails on and on and on. Who is going to make this? Who is going to get that? What colour does she like? It adds up to a chance to go shopping.

My brain chemistry still cannot handle this. Maybe that is what I need to focus on, you know, that male brain chemistry. Man, (in the singular) I feel out numbered... (For example, it's taken me a number of years to understand the intricate ritual of correctly stacking the dishwasher. I still don't fully get it. The dishes seem to come out clean to me!) But back to the matter at hand, why the isolated feeling when I have so much life experience and should really be able to handle this dream of a situation (i.e., working with 13 women)?

Truth is, the female order in my workspace and my home space sometimes hits me like a double whammy. While a typical man departs daily from the usual and fully anticipated/accepted home gender conflicts to a nest of nurturing masculine camaraderie at work, I don't. I crave fart jokes, sports talk and the absence of discussion about menstruation, not to mention a reprieve from the ongoing and seemingly required minutiae involved with celebrating the birthdays (averaging about one a month) of everyone in the office.

And with the birthdays comes the food. Oh my God. Tantalizing muncheez and until recently, decadent slices of HIGH cholesterol.

Every time and without fail, at least one of the team will say to me" Do you want" or "Would you like another piece of B.day cake." I smile and reply "Just a small slice, please," then wait for service - oh to be a Greek god with 13 nymphs focused on your ever-growing tummy. What the hell was I thinking?

I do have brief moments of strength and fortitude. But then why the hell do I so quickly get the statement "resistance is futile" bouncing around my cerebral lobes? Maybe I am getting internal youthful images confused with a Buddha look-a-like competition. You know, my mind still thinks am 21. See what I mean?

I am trying to come to terms with a different (aging) body. Do I blame genetics? Now don't judge me if you are one of those slim petite body types. I am telling you, you can't relate.

The trouble is that I am told that I was formerly a Good Looker - once. Another "Richard Branson" of Virgin Mega store fame. Wish I had his money, but with my personal evolutionary path. Being a hunk is all right from a distance. Being a sensitive hunk, immersed in the daily companionship of 13 females telling you you're cute and have nice legs, those things actually embarrass me, but have potentially lulled me into a false sense of security. Have I allowed myself to go to seed, taken up major shareholdings in a cellulite factory? Shit, I don't know. (Reminder - book the detoxify colonics with Sally.) Have I taken my integration into the female clan too seriously? Wanting to be accepted by the girls? It's funny how the physical mirror seems to be a women's best friend. Wow, I'm sure the compact make-up mirror in part was inspired by the PDA. Writing this is clearing my mental mirror. Although, I need some help.

I was taught from a very young age to be the socially polite male and to always accept the graces of a woman's attention. The ladies in my office are from a wide range of socio and economic backgrounds. There is also an estimated 20+ years between the youngest members and the mature beauties. All demonstrate unique characteristics that I can appreciate and admire, even if I find them hard to understand at times.

After nearly five years of an intense environment you get to observe and know a thing or too. Writing this is very therapeutic, it brings me the conscious choice of my yin yang energy. WOW - I can feel the balance.

I obviously needed a platform with an indirect form of anonymity to vent. Someone pass me the tissues. It's so wonderful to express my feelings thank you, thank you, thank you, Ladies-Room. I promise I will not peek.

I do wonder if I will rattle any cages. I cannot wait to find out. Bring it on, sisters.