I kill mice. Not spiders.
Can we talk? [Joan RIvers, anyone?]
When my daughter was young, she thought dead mice and mousetraps were no big deal. She’s 13 now, and she just got home from school and asked me if there were any mice in the kitchen. She wasn’t going to go in the kitchen, if there were.
She gets this from her mother, and there are a lot of things that annoy me about my wife, but this is the one that gets me most agitated. I just get furious thinking about it, and not the least of it is about feminism.
Women and men are supposed to be equal, these days, except for physical differences. I’m sorry, but there is not enough physical difference to justify making mouse-catching a man’s job (assuming you don’t have a cat).
Anything else—I don’t have a problem who does whatever. So long as the sex roles work in bed, I’m cool. We both earn a living (she earns more money, I have better benefits). We both do housework. I cook and shop; she does the laundry and the dishes. With respect to the children, she spends more time with them, especially with their homework. I think she pansies them. I think they could learn to work on their own if we expected it of them. Anyway, she does more because she thinks more needs to be done. I do the music lessons and story reading and some homework duty.
I guess the thing that annoys her the most is organizing birthdays and holidays. Again, this is the kind of thing where if you want it, you do it. I would be just fine without Christmas and birthdays. Thanksgiving is my holiday, and I do it all except for the table setting.
Real men? I’m a real man. I’m not macho, but I know what to do, and I do it. Decisions? Everyone is all about decisions. I don’t get it. You do what you need to. If you need to make a choice, you analyze the options and make a choice. If it isn’t worth analyzing, then you flip a coin and go forward.
But in my book, real men are secure enough to display their weaknesses. They aren’t afraid of what people will think. They are who they are, good and bad. I’m damn good at displaying what’s wrong with me, that’s for sure!
Assertiveness doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I practically require it. Sometimes I get a bit much of it from my wife, but, you pays your money and you takes your chances. I need a woman who knows what she wants and what she thinks. She needs to be able to give me a run for my money. Either really creative, or incredibly smart. Preferably both.
And shelves? You want to see shelves? I made the shelves that line the walls in my library. My brother made one, but I did all the rest. You want to see the saws and drills in my basement? You want to see the tools in the toolshed? You want to see my bulbs in the garden? Or the doilies I make in…... no, not really. I’m not into doilies.
I make music. I dance. I’ve performed at both things. I write. I tell stories (and performed at that, too). I cook. I bicycle. I kick ass in bed (in a nice way, but definitely naughty, too).
Of course, I’m crazy, too. I must be a twee bit up or I’d never let myself say this stuff. Although it feels damn good to say it, after holding it in all these years. I’m fucking special, and I think a lot of people know it.
But aside from this outburst, I’m a real man in another way. I’m quiet. I let people figure stuff out for themselves. And there’s a lot more, too, but this has gone far enough.
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