Did I mention that I am not alarmed?!!
Really! I'm not! Well, that is provided that my pregnant wife doesn't go off the chaotic, absolutely unexpected cliff of wildly irrational emotions again. I am talking about the unreasonable, impossible to fathom, deep end. The one that you cannot believe is in the realm of possibility. The one where your initial thought is to look for Ashton Kutcher or Betty White. After all, some punk must be off his rocker. This is the deep end that involves uncontrollable crying, illogical thinking, and the sobbing shrieks that are commonly mistaken as the infamous African Bull Elephant in labor. I apologize for reminding you of the horrors of a few weeks ago, but I needed to re-paint the picture that left me sitting in the corner of my closet, crouched in the fetal position, rocking back and forth and sucking my thumb. Now that you are visible shaken and find yourself constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure that the little clown on the tricycle isn't sneaking up on you; we can begin.
Are you alarmed? Once again, I am not alarmed!
I am, however, confused. But, as a man, I will always be confused when it comes to a woman. I cannot even begin to pretend that I understand the beautiful, irrational mind of woman. Before I receive hate mail, before you close the book or shut off the blog, and before my wife hits me...I did say your minds were beautiful. The "irrational" comment just slipped out. Give me a break...I am pregnant after all.
Men will never understand women. And, I am not sure we, as a gender, should want to. Honestly, it will just make things even more confusing. With understanding comes expectation, and what more can they expect from us? Seriously! As cavemen, we had already reached our full potential. After all, we did discover that fire thing. And, don't forget about the wheel. But hell, that one may have been invented by a women. Anyways, no matter how hard we try, it just isn't going to happen. The understanding is not going to magically appear. I am not even sure the Man upstairs, their Creator, understands them. And, I don't blame him.
This lack of understanding is part of our nature. Women, you really have to give us a break because no matter how much effort we put in, we still aren't going to comprehend your thoughts. And, this problem is only magnified when a woman is "hormonal". You know what I am talking about...the monthly visitation from the crimson monster. I think it is commonly known as "Monstrating". Now, before anyone gets all up in arms about this...Brit, Bre, Paula (sorry for singling you out)...but I must remind you that I warned you. You have been warned time and time again by others and myself that I am fairly offensive. Patience is a virtue. Don't forget that.
World War III is on the verge of breaking out once a month. And, at that point, guys suit up in their gas masks, grab some rations, and head for the wildness. The soothing, understanding world of Sportscenter calls to us. Stuart Scott's voice has been proven to substantially lower blood pressure. Research has shown that a daily dose of Dan Patrick can reduce the risk of heart attack and stroke. And, a Monday night with Jon Gruden and Mike Tirico, can up the resale value on your home. Sports are our refuge. And, PS: I know that all this isn't on ESPN.
Sorry about all that. I got a little sidetracked. I have a feeling I am going to be slapped a couple times in the near future, but it was totally worth it. Now, onto what made me think of this topic about understanding women.
As a man, I can leave my house with absolutely no notice. I may be sued by UPS for answering the door in the nude or picked up by Henderson PD for running around in my underwear, but as a man, I can leave at any time. I can grab my keys and wallet and head out. I can even back out of the garage without breaking a mirror. And, I made sure to replace the old mirror with those indestructible, military tested mirrors just to avoid another episode of "True Stories I Completely Lost It For No Reason". If you don't know what I'm talking about then I don't have time for you.
A man can survive with what is in his pockets. A journey of fifteen minutes doesn't require us to take much. Again, if the law allowed, the majority of us could make that trip to Wal-Mart or Gamestop in our underwear...or less. You're welcome ladies.
This is where the fundamental difference occurs. And, there are a few of them. First, if women left their houses in their underwear, there isn't a man alive that would get anything done. Straight men would gawk and lose all control. Gay men would critique and appreciate. So, regardless, no man is getting anything done on that day. Second, women as beautiful as you are...why...why does it take so long to get ready? This is another book entirely, so for now, it is just a passing thought. This next one is the one I really wanted to address. Lastly, why does a woman have to prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse every time she leaves the house? And, this only gets worse when a woman is pregnant. I am not joking here. I am completely serious.
Remember, I can leave the house with just the items in my pockets. My wife, on the other hand, leaves the house with what is commonly referred to as a "purse". But, I think that name doesn't do this bag justice. This bag is of military grade. It is an all-in-one pharmacy, general supply store, and all-you-can-eat buffet. This bag has saved lives. Who needs food storage when you have my wife's purse?
Need to operate on someone? She has the supplies. Need to feed starving children? She has that covered. Need to catch up on your reading? She has a library. Want to color? She will respond with crayons or colored pencils. Missing a Monopoly piece? She has a spare thimble and the wheelbarrow. I knew we should have named our kid "Rusty Will". Need to survive for a week in the Amazon Rain Forest? Just take the purse. If my wife was allowed to take her purse on Survivor, she would win without any issues.
Really! I'm not! Well, that is provided that my pregnant wife doesn't go off the chaotic, absolutely unexpected cliff of wildly irrational emotions again. I am talking about the unreasonable, impossible to fathom, deep end. The one that you cannot believe is in the realm of possibility. The one where your initial thought is to look for Ashton Kutcher or Betty White. After all, some punk must be off his rocker. This is the deep end that involves uncontrollable crying, illogical thinking, and the sobbing shrieks that are commonly mistaken as the infamous African Bull Elephant in labor. I apologize for reminding you of the horrors of a few weeks ago, but I needed to re-paint the picture that left me sitting in the corner of my closet, crouched in the fetal position, rocking back and forth and sucking my thumb. Now that you are visible shaken and find yourself constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure that the little clown on the tricycle isn't sneaking up on you; we can begin.
Are you alarmed? Once again, I am not alarmed!
I am, however, confused. But, as a man, I will always be confused when it comes to a woman. I cannot even begin to pretend that I understand the beautiful, irrational mind of woman. Before I receive hate mail, before you close the book or shut off the blog, and before my wife hits me...I did say your minds were beautiful. The "irrational" comment just slipped out. Give me a break...I am pregnant after all.
Men will never understand women. And, I am not sure we, as a gender, should want to. Honestly, it will just make things even more confusing. With understanding comes expectation, and what more can they expect from us? Seriously! As cavemen, we had already reached our full potential. After all, we did discover that fire thing. And, don't forget about the wheel. But hell, that one may have been invented by a women. Anyways, no matter how hard we try, it just isn't going to happen. The understanding is not going to magically appear. I am not even sure the Man upstairs, their Creator, understands them. And, I don't blame him.
This lack of understanding is part of our nature. Women, you really have to give us a break because no matter how much effort we put in, we still aren't going to comprehend your thoughts. And, this problem is only magnified when a woman is "hormonal". You know what I am talking about...the monthly visitation from the crimson monster. I think it is commonly known as "Monstrating". Now, before anyone gets all up in arms about this...Brit, Bre, Paula (sorry for singling you out)...but I must remind you that I warned you. You have been warned time and time again by others and myself that I am fairly offensive. Patience is a virtue. Don't forget that.
World War III is on the verge of breaking out once a month. And, at that point, guys suit up in their gas masks, grab some rations, and head for the wildness. The soothing, understanding world of Sportscenter calls to us. Stuart Scott's voice has been proven to substantially lower blood pressure. Research has shown that a daily dose of Dan Patrick can reduce the risk of heart attack and stroke. And, a Monday night with Jon Gruden and Mike Tirico, can up the resale value on your home. Sports are our refuge. And, PS: I know that all this isn't on ESPN.
Sorry about all that. I got a little sidetracked. I have a feeling I am going to be slapped a couple times in the near future, but it was totally worth it. Now, onto what made me think of this topic about understanding women.
As a man, I can leave my house with absolutely no notice. I may be sued by UPS for answering the door in the nude or picked up by Henderson PD for running around in my underwear, but as a man, I can leave at any time. I can grab my keys and wallet and head out. I can even back out of the garage without breaking a mirror. And, I made sure to replace the old mirror with those indestructible, military tested mirrors just to avoid another episode of "True Stories I Completely Lost It For No Reason". If you don't know what I'm talking about then I don't have time for you.
A man can survive with what is in his pockets. A journey of fifteen minutes doesn't require us to take much. Again, if the law allowed, the majority of us could make that trip to Wal-Mart or Gamestop in our underwear...or less. You're welcome ladies.
This is where the fundamental difference occurs. And, there are a few of them. First, if women left their houses in their underwear, there isn't a man alive that would get anything done. Straight men would gawk and lose all control. Gay men would critique and appreciate. So, regardless, no man is getting anything done on that day. Second, women as beautiful as you are...why...why does it take so long to get ready? This is another book entirely, so for now, it is just a passing thought. This next one is the one I really wanted to address. Lastly, why does a woman have to prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse every time she leaves the house? And, this only gets worse when a woman is pregnant. I am not joking here. I am completely serious.
Remember, I can leave the house with just the items in my pockets. My wife, on the other hand, leaves the house with what is commonly referred to as a "purse". But, I think that name doesn't do this bag justice. This bag is of military grade. It is an all-in-one pharmacy, general supply store, and all-you-can-eat buffet. This bag has saved lives. Who needs food storage when you have my wife's purse?
Need to operate on someone? She has the supplies. Need to feed starving children? She has that covered. Need to catch up on your reading? She has a library. Want to color? She will respond with crayons or colored pencils. Missing a Monopoly piece? She has a spare thimble and the wheelbarrow. I knew we should have named our kid "Rusty Will". Need to survive for a week in the Amazon Rain Forest? Just take the purse. If my wife was allowed to take her purse on Survivor, she would win without any issues.
Mary Poppin's bag is jealous of my wife's purse. Merlin's bag doesn't hold a candle to my wife's bag. But, if he wants, she has a candle he can borrow. Just ask her, it is in her purse.
Now, while I appreciate her emergency preparedness, I have recently become concerned with this monstrosity. The other day, we were going to Babies 'R' Us to pick up some items for the boy's room. As we were approaching the store, she retrieves leftover Applebee's from her magical bag of goodness.
Really? She responded with "Hey, I needed a snack. No one will judge me, I'm pregnant". Guess I cannot really argue that one.
As I stood there dumbfounded, amazed, and completely confused, the thoughts of the differences between men and women bounced around my skull. Many more topics to come.
Back to this magical bag for a minute. This thing is filled to the brim with a mixture of items that if properly combined could probably cure cancer or achieve world peace. Instead, they sit haphazardly in my wife's bag ready to be part of my next scavenger hunt. Every time I go in their to check the pharmacy or to look for some Play Dough...I end up feeling like Christopher Columbus in his search for America - or - Lewis & Clark in their search for the Pacific - or - the quest for the Lost City of Eldorado - or - the Joker in search of the Bat Cave. Finding a stick of gum and a Tylenol in that black hole is one of my greatest accomplishments. I still put it on my resume to this day.
As my wife has been pregnant, I have come to the realization how heavy a bag that holds the contents of the world is. It is enough to cause a hernia, which reminds me, I need to turn my head and cough. Despite the hernia, being the gentleman that I am, I always offer to carry her purse. While it is somewhat embarrassing, as long as it matches my outfit like we planned before leaving the house, then I don't mind. The red one really brings out my eyes anyways. And, if we ever get separated, at least I will survive.
So, in an emergency, just look for the pregnant guy in his underwear with a matching purse because he is the guy that can save your life if it comes down to it. Just have him pull what you need out of the bag. That is...if he doesn't get lost in it.
Now, while I appreciate her emergency preparedness, I have recently become concerned with this monstrosity. The other day, we were going to Babies 'R' Us to pick up some items for the boy's room. As we were approaching the store, she retrieves leftover Applebee's from her magical bag of goodness.
Really? She responded with "Hey, I needed a snack. No one will judge me, I'm pregnant". Guess I cannot really argue that one.As I stood there dumbfounded, amazed, and completely confused, the thoughts of the differences between men and women bounced around my skull. Many more topics to come.
Back to this magical bag for a minute. This thing is filled to the brim with a mixture of items that if properly combined could probably cure cancer or achieve world peace. Instead, they sit haphazardly in my wife's bag ready to be part of my next scavenger hunt. Every time I go in their to check the pharmacy or to look for some Play Dough...I end up feeling like Christopher Columbus in his search for America - or - Lewis & Clark in their search for the Pacific - or - the quest for the Lost City of Eldorado - or - the Joker in search of the Bat Cave. Finding a stick of gum and a Tylenol in that black hole is one of my greatest accomplishments. I still put it on my resume to this day.
As my wife has been pregnant, I have come to the realization how heavy a bag that holds the contents of the world is. It is enough to cause a hernia, which reminds me, I need to turn my head and cough. Despite the hernia, being the gentleman that I am, I always offer to carry her purse. While it is somewhat embarrassing, as long as it matches my outfit like we planned before leaving the house, then I don't mind. The red one really brings out my eyes anyways. And, if we ever get separated, at least I will survive.
So, in an emergency, just look for the pregnant guy in his underwear with a matching purse because he is the guy that can save your life if it comes down to it. Just have him pull what you need out of the bag. That is...if he doesn't get lost in it.
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