I have been a member of the male sex my entire life, actually longer, since my masculinity—such as it is—was determined when I first acquired a Y chromosome, a microscopic dust bunny-like creature, nine months before I was born.
Despite my disinterested point of view, I will readily admit that men are the grosser sex. Men don’t smell as good as women, and are more likely to scratch themselves in places where they shouldn’t, sometimes on national TV as is often the case with professional athletes. With the exception of Cary Grant, whose gentlemanly manner was as close to perfection as any man ever achieved, it’s hard to understand what women see in men at all.
