Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Men Treats

I've just discovered the famous article "what Shamu taught me about a happy marriage" and find it hilarious and frustrating. It's pathetic that we women are so smart we can actually pull this off without being caught, and even more irritating that we have to “train” men to get what we deserve. I can recall in many relationships leaving little crumbs of info that clearly led to the end result I wanted, only to have my man *think* he was the one who came up with it. My therapist called it "managing people". Why cant men (now I am sure there are men who can figure out that they are being managed) see the maze they are running in or recognize the prehistoric way we women have resorted to dealing with them? Are men so completely unevolved that they learn solely on recognition and reward?

It bugs me when I have to point out the obvious. "The obvious" being what is so crystal clear to me you'd have to be an ape not to get it. So why cant I just accept this clarity on the male pysche that yes, men do in fact operate on a much more simple level than women. A level devoid of endless obsessing, worrying and tattering on about what this person thinks, how we look, how we feel, blah blah blah.

I recently had to force out the words "I want you know your feelings" in a conversation with my boyfriend and was irritated that thanks to society and stereotypes my main concern was being reduced down to "typical woman" status. I cringed as the word "feelings" came out of my mouth, landing on the bed and bouncing off as I quickly recovered and made sure he knew how stoopid they sounded to me. He smiled at my own acknowledgement, which was all I needed. Yes I feel this way, yes it is stoopid, but please just hear me.

But, truthfully it appears there is no other way than this one:

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/25/fashion/25love.html?ex=1158206400&en=cb2f697a3e2094df&ei=5070

This makes me want to put a can of treats on the counter that reads “Michael” on it next to the one that says “Madonna”, my dog, on it. Ha ha. (neither can actually exist…poor Madonna)

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