In the battle of the sexes, men are the superpower. They are the United States, or the USSR, or China. They have the resources. They have the inherent advantages of size and strength and speed. They get to go around doing pretty much whatever they want without regard to the collateral damage.

Women are Afghanistan. We seem like we’re weak. We seem to lack resources. We seem like we can’t fend for ourselves and we’re kind of bat-shit crazy. Everyone wants to take care of us. We are, in short, a mess.

But we can’t be beaten. Even Alexander the Great, who suppressed enough of his sexual urges to take over half the planet, still couldn’t conquer Afganistan. Do you think if he had a Josephine he wouldn’t have ended up with a Waterloo? Give me a break. Men have power, but the real super power belongs to women. And it’s in our pants.

My favorite comedian, Louis CK, has said that the most amazing thing about women is that we can decide to not have sex. Right in the middle, we can just decide not to do it anymore, and we can stop. Men don’t have this luxury, and therefore are required to do our bidding once the plateau has been crossed. I have no problem when a man thinks of me as a sex object. While he is thinking with his dick, I’m thinking with my brain and all of a sudden, he’s helping me move that weekend. There is a power in sexuality and to pretend there isn’t is as much a feminist manifesto as making sandwiches in the nude.

Men are awesome, women are awesome. Relationships are awesome. Love is a beautiful, genius thing. But like many things of beauty and genius, it’s fucking crazy.