I enjoy being a girl?

Sometimes I find it impossible to be a woman. Not because of my monthly visitor (insert your own personal euphemism here), or because I think the male species is out to get me. No, I find it very frustrating to be a woman because of other women.
I have never been what anyone would call a girly girl. Yes, I love Hello Kitty, Grey's Anatomy and the color pink, but there are a lot of things in the sorority of girl that I have have always been excluded from because I just don't think about those things. I can't get excited about home decor, my office is not cluttered with picture frames, and I have no tolerance for Dancing with the Stars. I work in an office that is predominantly female. Almost every morning starts off the same way. Everyone talks about the horrible news in the paper, some people discuss whatever happened the previous night on Idol, Jag or Army Wives, and sometimes we talk about our kids. However, when I get done telling my lady co-workers the anecdote about whatever cute thing my son has done this morning, I am out of things to talk about.
I'm not the only lady I know who is afflicted with this. My friend M. recently was told she didn't seem excited about her burgeoning pregnancy just because she drew a blank face when a co-worker asked what the baby's color scheme was. M. assumed the lady meant the colors of the nursery, so she complied with a, "Oh, we're doing Jungle theme, so I guess green." The lady corrected M. and said she was actually wondering what the baby's colors were going to be as in what colors the baby was going to wear on its body. Since she is having a boy, M. replied, "Not pink?" How does that translate to not being excited about her pregnancy?
I have a co-worker who loves showing me her girly things. Every new photo frame, piece of jewelry or scrapbooking piece she obtains, she is knocking on my office door. Her daughter has on several occasions worn Cairo syrup on her head in order to secure a pink bow, since the poor child didn't have enough hair to secure it. And the day she moved into her office, she covered every flat surface with framed photos. There wasn't even room for an in/out box. If she wasn't so nice, I think I would hate her. Today she showed me a bib she ordered for a friend. It was a blue and brown bib with Max embroidered on it, and although I choked out an, "It's adorable," I could not stop giggling in my head. All I could hear was,
"Max Power, that's the man who's name you'd love to touch,
but you musn't touch!
That name sounds good in your ear, but when you say it,
you musn't fear.
'Cause that name could be said by anyone!"
If you know where that is from, then me and you can hang.