raising_the_white

Raising the White Flag

“Ready to go?” I asked innocently.

Rather than responding, my wife shot an eye dart at me, rife with menace. The hairs raised on my neck, and my bladder threatened to empty.

“Oh, uh, take your time,” I amended hastily.

With majestic bearing, she disappeared back into the bathroom.

I settled down to wait, and decided to exercise a few brain cells. Well, okay, both of them.

And that’s when it hit me. Women resent guys, and here’s why.

We’re simple.

And it bothers them that it doesn’t bother us.

We express ourselves simply, “Boo Yah! Yeah! Whoa! Whoo-hoo! Wheeha!”

We like simple foods, “Just give me a steak, the bloodier, the better, heh, heh.”

If we have gas, we simply do the humane thing and release it from captivity, letting it join its gas friends in the atmosphere of our world.

We don’t tweeze, cram our feet into pointy shoes, wear nylon stockings in sub-zero weather, or shave our armpits. If we get razor rash, we grow a beard. If something hangs out, we let it, be it our shirtsleeves or our guts. We like noise, bugs, and dirt, and we always stop to watch a fight. Rather than understanding a problem, we’ll figure out a solution.

Simple rules for simple minds, huh?

Yep, that’s us.

I think that’s why women name everything bad that happens to them after us. Think about it, menopause, hysterectomy, hysteria. Others are just meant to insult, like mental, manipulate, menace, mangy.

Because the secret truth is, they hate us and want to punish us for the rest of our lives.

I mean, we should get the hint at our funeral, er, wedding day. Do guys insist that women wear white? Nope, it’s all their idea. We don’t care. All we care about is how many buttons and snaps we have to remove afterwards.

So what is it with the white dress? I think it’s meant to confuse us, mess with our flight/fight impulse. They know we won’t run away from a color that’s synonymous with surrender. The white flag.

Women, pretty darned tricky creatures, pretending to surrender.

So, what is it that bothers them the most?

I thought about it while I waited at the kitchen table, listening to the little sounds of industry and progress coming from the bathroom as my wife transformed herself from, uh, the most beautiful woman in the world, to the most beautiful woman in the world.

What is it they hate about us?

Let’s see. I was in and out of the shower in five minutes, and scraped the hair off my chin in another three minutes. Dried, dressed and out of the bathroom in less than ten minutes. Nature endowed me with a hairline that facilitates quick drying, so a blow dryer is sheer overkill. My armpits, chest, legs and nose sprout untamed fur. Cellulite is just a word, and I can suck in my gut any time I want to look more manly.

Oh. I get it.