Don’t worry, that awful pun will come to make sense soon enough. Can’t promise that you will find it any funnier though.

  Every so often a Beyoncé song gets stuck in my head and there’s nothing I can do to get it out. This would not be that unusual if I actually listened to her music. But I really do not. I’ve never ever chosen to listen to one of her songs, by which I mean I’ve only ever heard her music on radio. To be honest, I can’t even remember the last time I heard a Beyoncé song; it must have been a really long time. Still, they’re there. In me. And occasionally, the songs reach the surface of my mind and I want to drown them in other music or just any available environmental noise but I inevitably fail and Beyoncé wins. Always.

  I fear I may be giving the impression that I don’t like Beyoncé, which is only partly true. Like I said, I’m not a big fan, but I can hardly pretend her songs aren’t catchy. I wouldn’t be writing this article if they weren’t, would I?

  I keep talking about her songs as if I was familiar with her entire back catalogue, when in fact I am only familiar with three of her songs. There’s that one where she endeavours do assemble an army of single ladies but continuously fails to do so (why else would she have to shout „All the single ladies!“ over and over again?) Then there’s that one where she ponders what it would be like to be a member of the opposite sex. And then there’s also that one where someone fails to „put a ring on it“, which, upon investigation, turns out to be the same song as the single ladies one. So, really, I only know two Beyoncé songs. Actually, I don’t even really know those two songs. I can vividly remember the rhythm and melody of each song, but as far as lyrics go, I remember just about nothing. What happens when a Beyoncé song is stuck in my mind is mostly this: na na na na na na na na na na ring on it!, na na na na na na na na na na ring on it! Wuh uh oh uh uh oh oh uh oh uh uh oh, Wuh uh oh uh uh oh oh uh oh uh uh oh, etc. I have quite a hard time remembering lyrics, even with songs I like and listen to a lot. The instrumentals, however, is always anchored in my mind like shameful memories. Give me any 90s pop song that I haven’t heard in over a decade and I will effortlessly hum every single filler guitar lick. But remembering five words from a song? No way.

  Let’s talk about Beyoncé’s song If I Were a Boy for a bit. It’s an emotional and impactful song, a beautifully melodic case study in empathy. However, it’s also, in my opinion, very not very credible.

„If I were a boy… Even just for a day… I’d roll outta bed in the morning… And throw on what I wanted and go…Drink beer with the guys…“

So, what about this is not credible? Well, I’m pretty sure that, no matter what kind of woman you are, the first thing you would do if, one morning, you had awoken in a male body would be to rigorously inspect your new genitalia; look at it, touch it, squeeze, stroke it, try to lick it, and just see what it all feels like. Then, after a few minutes of this, you might roll outta bed, but not to go to the bar. No, sir! (well… sir, but still sort of madame-ish, just with a cock and balls now) Anyway, you would roll out of bed and then keep rolling all the way to the bathroom, where, for the first time in your life, you would find out what it feels like to piss standing up without flooding the entire bathroom.

BEYONCÉ: „Blimey! I just had the most peculiar dream… Hang on. What is that I feel on my inner thigh? Silly me! I must have forgotten to take the dildo out again. I really must remember to take it out before I go to sleep. Hold on a second! Why does it feel so warm and… um… fleshy? That is not my dildo! (she reaches down) Dear me! Why that is a penis! I have a penis! Oh dear! What on Earth am I supposed to do now!? Oh, I know! I must dash to the pub and have some ales with the lads. No time must be wasted. I shall depart instantly! (yes, Beyoncé is actually an upper-crust British woman from the Victorian era. You’ve been lied to.)

Do you get my point here? That’s just not how it happens. You wake up with a penis instead of a vulva, you pee, you wank, maybe do a cheeky helicopter, and then you might think about going to the pub. I definitely know that if I woke up in a woman’s body tomorrow, I would immediately go for a piss and play around with my twinkle cave (one after the other, I should add; I’m not an animal). The first two weeks as a woman would probably be spent in my bedroom, eagerly trying to make myself squirt. Wouldn’t make for a very heartfelt song like Beyoncé’s but at least it’s a credible story.

  Before I go, a note on peeing standing up: I never understood the appeal of urinals. It’s not that I’m terribly lazy, but why stand when you can sit? Especially for peeing. I tend to take advantage of peeing to take a few minutes to relax and reflect on my day, on my life, on what sort of people seriously believe it’s preferable to have the bog roll face the wall and not away from it. Especially at uni, I rejoice in isolating myself from the outside world, locking myself into a cubicle, and slouching and the bog for a good five minutes. I just can’t relax at a urinal, mostly because I actively worry about the stream off urine ricocheting onto my trousers throughout the whole experience. Cubicles also give me the liberty to spontaneously decide to do a poo, which I really appreciate. When I sit on the bog, I let all my muscles relax and my thoughts wander. It’s very much like meditating; the aim is to rid my body of all waste, whether it be urine or bad thoughts. I would say it’s definitely a spiritual experience for me. Maybe I am taking this a bit far. Hm… Never mind. Well… um… that’s it I guess… NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA RING ON IT!

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