I once quipped to one of my male friends that, had I been born male, I would have been a homosexual. Of course he took in the sexual way in which men say this when they mention the fantasy of being born female. But that wasn’t what I meant. I meant it in a wholly female manner: Had I been born male, I would likely be a homosexual or one of those heterosexual, eternally single ‘cads’ simply because women drive me nuts, for the most part.
I’ve rarely had a close female friend. I’m not saying that it’s my failing or that of the rest of womankind. I’d say, neither. I just have different interests than many women. I find the interests of many women to be sleep-inducing. And they find mine and my way of looking at things, well, weird.
In the past couple of weeks, over at Dean’s World, two posts allow commenters to rail against (or sing the praises of) both men and women.
Two reasons why I’m glad I’m not a man, outside of the sexual reasons. The sexual ones do exist, but this ain’t that kind of post.
1. From one of Dean’s commenters:
Women want to tell you all their problems, but you are supposed to just listen, and not offer any advice on how they could fix their problems.Yes. Recently, I had a needless argument with a female acquaintance for this very reason. She mentioned specific problems. I suggested specific solutions. She lambasted me for ‘arguing’ and began to insult me for trying help. It was totally ridiculous and, once I’m burned, I don’t go back to the fire again. Pointless complaining is like scratching on a blackboard to me. Verbally beating me for trying to help…
I’m not saying that I haven’t occasionally behaved in this manner as well. Usually, however, it’s directed at someone who has offered their unsolicited advice, however. But, unless they’re particularly annoying about it, I’ll usually refrain from saying 'nunya' or apologize if I do.
2. I absolutely despise shopping. Never could there be a more boring—or ‘boringer’ as one of my nephews so charmingly put it--exercise than that.
My great aunt doesn’t drive, so when she wants to go shopping, I grit my teeth and do it. Most of the time spent with us in-store consists of me directing her toward whatever item we came to buy and pulling her away from some distraction that has caught her eye. I’ve since learned to bring a book and my reading glasses whenever she wants to go get something.
*****
Speaking of unsolicited advice, today, a male acquaintance said this to me: “Now that you’ve capped off your career, I’m going to say something to you. Now don’t get mad.” At least he acknowledged that he was getting in my business. Bemused, I assured him that I wouldn’t. He continued: “You ought to find yourself a husband.” I cracked up. Et tu, Andre?
I’d like to do it again, but it’s not a priority. I’d rather be single for the rest of my life, than make the same disastrous matrimonial mistake as before. Being “in love,” as Acidman laments, is nice, but what comes after that (lust) high wears off? What happens the first time I miss my work-out and wake up in a bad mood? What happens the first time he yells at me? There are so few examples anymore to observe. My mother and stepfather, married for thirty plus years, make a fine one, but even they (separately) got it wrong at first.
I’m not sweating it. Some people look at a forty-two year old single woman with no kids as an object of pity or a possible lesbian. To quote one Lt. Uhura: “Sorry, neither.” (Which old Trek episode did that one come from?)
Don't cry for me.
