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For Men Only: The Secret Life of Women
That’s a photo of the little woman (Now don’t get all hissy. I warned you snowflakes of the female persuasion not to read this) with one of her BFFs. Marie the wife is on the left.
Marie is fairly typical of her sex, I suppose. I don’t know for certain because I don’t know many women. What women I know, I don’t quite understand, but I’m willing to tell you the little that I do know.
I accompanied Marie one time to one of her regular lunches with the ladies. I’ve never heard such frivolous talk. They talked about quilts, babies, their outfits, the personality defects of those who didn’t show up. Whatever was on the surface of life, they talked about. I heard one of them say that dying wouldn’t be half bad if she could take her cute little outfits to the afterlife with her. (I think she was joking.)
They ate little salads and little sandwiches, sometimes with cucumbers instead of meat. Cucumbers between two slices of bread! My god, you might as well get down on all fours and munch on grass and dandelions in your front yard.
I think I cramped their style. I won’t be going back anytime soon, even if they let me. Which they won’t.
Men, I need to tell you a hard truth: Women have a better time when we’re not around.
If it weren’t for our almost incidental part in baby-making, women would probably marry women. They just seem more compatible with one another than they are with us.
Women don’t want to know how things work. Every now and then I try to mansplain to Marie how air conditioning produces cold air. But she doesn’t seem interested. I don’t know why.
I like to cuss. Milady doesn’t like it. I don’t know why.
The thing is, women are ignorant of the important things in life. For the life of her, Marie can’t remember automobile marques. When we stop behind a car with four rings, I ask, “What’s the four rings car again, Hon?”
“I dunno,” she replies.
“What do each of the letters BMW represent?”
“I dunno.”
And you know what? She doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t care if a car is an Audi or not! Now that’s just pathetic.
They buy crazy stuff. We go to Safeway and Marie buys a few flowers for $10.99. They sit on our mantle and wilt in a few days. She buys makeup stuff from the expensive Clinique counter at Macy’s, 60 bucks for a couple of little bottles of something or another. You could buy a Bosch drill for the same money, and it’ll last a lifetime. Men are just more sensible about these matters.
Marie goes to various meetings largely as an excuse to talk to other women about their lives. Yes, she wants to know about their brothers, their mothers, their latest disease, whatever. She likes this kind of thing. Women are social. If Marie were still in high school, she would be called a sosh. Remember soshes? Women are, by their very nature, soshes.
Marie covets her friends. She takes them on and never lets them go. She started writing to a pen pal in Germany in the fourth grade. She still writes to her. That woman sitting with her on the bench in the photo above— Marie and she were pals in grade school.
Women have their moments. They seem brave in the face of pain that would reduce men to unmanly tears. Babies are cute and all, but to get one down and out the birth canal, women have to go through the most painful process one could imagine. I just wouldn’t do it. I once asked Marie if it hurt a lot when giving birth. She said it hurt like the dickens. “Imagine the most hellish bowel movement you’ve ever had,” she said. “Now multiply that by ten.” So you have to give them that.
They keep themselves excessively clean. Some of them, I’ve heard, change their socks and underwear almost every day. I don’t know why. Once a week seems just about right to me.
But if you still aren’t convinced that they are different from us, not just in degree but also in kind, go into your bathroom and look at the rows of little vials and bottles on their side of the bathroom. Here are a few of what I found on Marie’s side: Revitalize Lotion, Lubriderm, Thera-Tears, Fit Me, Triamcinolone Acetonide Cream, Olay Total Effects, Clinique Something or other, City Block Sheer, Lip Sense, and some other liquids without names. And a little angel with wire wings. My side of the bathroom counter has a bar of soap.
So that’s the secret life of females. It’s not a pleasant sight. We’re incompatible, guys. Somehow we tolerate one another. I don’t know how.
I usually ask Marie to read my essays before I post them. I’m not showing her this one. I think she would try to harsh my mellow. Women do that. I think they blame us for the pain of childbirth, and that makes them cruel to us.
Published in General
I’m not a redhead, but I was allergic to the chemicals in makeup too. But worse than that, I was and am very nearsighted, and my mascara always ended up on the mirror instead of me. :-)
Core drill is a term of art. Hammer drills don’t do it. A core drill is like a hole saw for concrete.
Wonderful. Yes you did, and yes it was! You look very outdoorsy.
Yes, that’s the one I rented and broke. An actual core drill.
lol. I am nearsighted too, and perhaps that is why I’ve never mastered the art of taking the selfie in the bathroom mirror . . . . it’s probably just as well, actually.
I want one of those cute little Bobcat thingys for cleaning out the barn. I think it would be much more maneuverable than the tractor.
Is the Red Hat Society an instrument of Russian collusion?
This conversation would fit neatly in the April 2019 Group Writing Theme: Men and Women. There are several dates still available. Tell us about your favorite couple, witty or tragic observations between the sexes, or perhaps the battles and truces. Or do something entirely different. Maybe a musical or dance post! Our schedule and sign-up sheet awaits.
May’s theme will be hatch after Easter.
You want me to stop and ask him what he wants for it? It’s a little one; wheels, not tracks.
You must have a gift. I’ve had terrible luck with women. My last girlfriend kept using the word “mansplaining” wrong, but when I pointed it out in front of her friends she got all huffy. They’re a mystery.
I use the term “skid steer loader” because the rental company we deal with rents Cat equipment. Our salesman resents the use of the term “Bobcat.”
Women, the mystery.
How strange. Every time I visit my wife’s grave, I go to Kroger and buy a few flowers to bring with me. They sit by her tombstone and wilt in a few days.
I never could bring her flowers when she was alive. She was allergic to them, as well as perfumes and most cosmetics. Now I can give her flowers so I do. Yet I wish I still needed to bring her silk and paper flowers the way I used to.
One thing I think about this concept–what would women have done without men–is that some of the women would still have had to cook and clean and have the babies. (Yes, yes, I know–without men, how would there be babies–but, there would need to be some type of reproduction…)
I think that many of the inventions and creations and improvements were done by men because they had women to take care of them. And if that female wasn’t a wife, it surely was a servant or other relative. The joy of modern life is that now it doesn’t take all day to prepare a nourishing meal–you can order in, or just microwave something. But, when it required the efforts of growing the grain so you could feed it to the chickens, and then killing the chickens and cooking them to have a meal, someone had to do all that work just to sustain life. I don’t know…but maybe that’s why more men were inventors.
From your profile, it looks like you might be in Tennessee. Looks like it would be I-65 to 71 to 70 and home! Think anyone would notice if I drove/steered it up the Interstates?
Salesmen, huh. He can sue me. I’m just a lay
manwoman on the matter. Apparently you knew what I meant, and that’s half the battle . . . .I think I’d use a trailer.
You can have dinner, and you can have a party. I don’t see how you could have both at the same time.
Spoilsport. I was thinking more of enacting my own version of The Straight Story.
It would be a little farther than across Mississippi. The thing would probably do maybe 15 miles an hour. Probably gasoline, though, so you wouldn’t have to look for diesel stations.
Probably better hope the exits weren’t too far apart, though.
@kentforrester – you started a forest fire – good grief! In my innocence, I forwarded your hilarious and delightful post to two friends, one who is a staunch NE liberal – she is my friend. I got back a screenshot of your post, with red lines drawn under all your “offensive, racist, sexist, white male comments” – I thought the black Mueller retacted magic marker version was coming next – oh my gosh!! You would have thought that I forwarded a copy of Mein Kamph. I forwarded a comment back that I can now understand why stand up comics have to walk on egg shells – I scanned the comments of your post to see if there were all male and I was bad for sending – If @she weighed in, I was ok….. oh my gosh!
It’s worse than I thought…….I saw a headline where they were bringing back Archie Bunker and The Jeffersons…..maybe a good time – the world has lost its sense of humor……except on Ricochet!
Cat, your friend doesn’t seem to have much of sense of humor. I hate to think that’s a typical character trait of liberals. I have an uber liberal female friend in Massachusetts who thought it was “amusing.” (Now that I think of it, that word “amusing” does sound like damning with faint praise.) Perhaps she was humoring me.
I don’t want to think about how PC and awful those shows will have to be now.
Sorry to get maybe a little too serious on you all…
I’ve had discussions with women in the past about the pain of childbirth. The women who have ONLY given birth, say it’s the worst pain ever possible. They just Know. Women who have given birth, and have had kidney stones, say that kidney stones hurt worse. But they must be wrong. Because, those OTHER women who HAVEN’T experienced kidney stones, just KNOW….
One possible reason: Women are designed to give birth. Neither men nor women are designed to have kidney stones. So my guess, although it could never be proven, is that kidney stones hurt worse for men, than giving birth does for women.
I found this interesting post a while back on a site discussing the ability of some people to be excellent computer programmers, while some just never get it:
Davis, I never really thought about it, but you’re probably right: in the current MSM environment, those shows would have to be PC.
Poison is the usual weapon of choice for a woman. Be on your guard if she offers to get you a beer . . .
Norman Lear apparently thought he was promoting liberalism with All In The Family especially, but in reality it was likely just the opposite. I suppose Lear didn’t understand that liberalism, portrayed accurately, is not a good image.
But a show like All In The Family made now wouldn’t make any attempt for accuracy.
OK, so it turns out that Ruby on Rails was created by a person of my sex. I still maintain that we are, on average, good toolmakers.