Being a man can be perplexing. I'm sorry, that was not very concise, allow me to reword that. Trying to be a man in a woman's world is difficult. Men are simple creatures who never give a second thought to eating BBQ wings on a white living room sofa without a napkin or tracking red mud on the living room carpet, which by the way is a hanging offense in Oklahoma.
Not so long ago I had a conversation at work with a truck driver who told me a tale of getting his hand slapped by his wife for leaving smutty fingerprints on the kitchen walls. He told me that were he not married he could easily get by in nothing more than a shotgun shack, complete with a television, small fridge for beer and bologna, a recliner, and a pallet on the floor for snoring purposes. This is a common theme as men are simple creatures with even simpler problems. Men usually like other men who are just loveable oafs, the same cannot be said for female types. They are much more complex, and they expect us to be complex as well. This only means that most of them just walk away disillusioned. But agreeing not to hate on our fellow man for being simpletons is universal, it's part of the man code. But part "B" of the code is that all plans between men are tentative at best. If one of them gets a chance to court a young lady, the whole thing gets scrubbed and there are no hurt feelings. So, you see, even under the best circumstances hormones always win.
A woman's life cannot be complete unless she has some to put pillows on, yes gentleman, they call them throw pillows for a reason. And it's a good thing when I get to throw them because it keeps me from taking a buck knife to them. Throw pillows on a bed are one of life's mysteries to a man, and the time that we lose in this life taking them off the bed is time we can never get back. Think of it like throwing perfectly good quarters into a casino slot machine, yes you could say pillows make me angry.
Not so long ago I made an outside porch bench for my mother with a giant arrowhead on it because she is from Kansas and (of course) is a diehard Chiefs fan. After we found the perfect spot for it and wrestled it into place I went for a drink of water. I couldn't have been gone for more than five consecutive minutes only to return and find it ALREADY had pillows on it. WHAT GIVES?! It was at that point I realized that this female sickness had even affected my own mother. Sometimes young men lose sight of the fact that even their own mothers are also girls at heart.
What is it about women and pillows, is it just sewn into their DNA at birth? My own wife must have ten pillows on her bed, but she is inly in possession of one head, so what gives? A pillow (when you are a man) is especially problematic because before you can sit you must move them. But whether it's your mom, wife, or mother-in-law if they end up on the floor (which is where they belong) you will quickly be in hot water. In a man's world what something looks like is of secondary importance to its functionality. if something works well, we will hold on to it forever like luggage. In fact, men consider ugly things a plus because then we know nobody will try to steal it. If a man owns a slick new Porche he will have the most sophisticated car alarm on the market installed in it. If they have a beat-up F-150 like I do they usually just leave the windows down, and the key laying on the seat. In my world theft equals getting a new one as the only thing I have too much of as an adult male is insurance. In a woman's world everything must be fabulous before it can be fitting. At this point I'm surprised my wife hasn't tried tying pink ribbons around my Dewalt 4" metal grinder and put doilies under my charging station.
My mom came to stay with me for a month last year and I noted while she was here that she was continually asking me for clean wash rags. Never in my life have I ever used a wash rag, I never even remember thinking to myself, "you know, I could use a wash rag right now." The whole premise seems asinine to me, you have a bar of soap, you have your hand, just wash your ass with it! Adding the rag just adds an unnecessary step that prolongs an already arduous process. Men NEVER buy washrags. The only thing we even need rags for is to do oil changes and for that we just cut up old tee shirts. I'd also like to pose the question; how can you tell the washrag you use on your face from the one you use on your undercarriage? Is one embroidered with "ASS" and the other one "FACE"?
Another female practice that perplexes me is the practice of using liquid soap on one of those frilly sponges you can only buy in places like "Bed Bath and Beyond" which by the way no straight man has ever stepped foot into with spontaneously combusting. I suppose the kind of grime I get on my neck at work is just a bit too industrial to be cut with girl soap. Don't get me wrong, I'm not scrubbing it with pumice, but that sissy liquid stuff can just never do the trick. Life in my fifties has become all about how to make my life as low maintenance as possible. At this point I fully expect to have it down to a hard science and expect to be totally maintenance free by the time I hit my eighties.
Just remember there are rules for washing in places we never discuss in public places. Miss manners never put them in print, but in her defense, she probably didn't ever think it would be necessary. Redd Foxx probably said it best when he said, "you've got to wash your ass." It's clear, concise, and quick to the point." So, the only lingering question is this, WITH or WITHOUT a washcloth?
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