In a Men Bashing State of Mind

Sorry guys, I’m in a men-bashing mood. I’ll try and rant with a sense of humor.

Are Men:

Capable of Saying What They Mean

Are men genetically opposed to confrontation and do they learn to tell women what they want to hear from the cradle to bypass arguments? I wonder if they even believe in the possibility of discussing issues without arguing. But why take the chance if you can avoid the situation altogether.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard “I’ll get to it” or “I’ll see what I can do.” Men soon learn that creating excuses takes too much effort and open-ended responses lend themselves to all kinds of interpretations and ways to get around what they don’t want to do.

Capable of Finding Anything Not in Their Direct Line of Sight

Self-explanatory—“Honey, where’s…?” Literally, if I had a nickel for every time that phrase was uttered, we’d be able to retire. Especially annoying when he’s looking for your body’s pieces-parts. It’s not like they move, although they may be surrounded with extra padding these days. Sorry, ladies—men bashing puts me in an impish mood.

Capable of Running an Errand in a Timely Manner

Of course whenever he goes out he meets every single person he’s ever known and has to stop to say hello—and find out each detail of  that person’s life history, their family’s life history, plans for the future, their pets… It’s bogus to portray women as the world’s gossips. And don’t thing we women don’t know you men take so much time so we can’t ask you to do anything else.

Oh, yeah—

Capable of Getting the Order Right

Even with a written list, if you forget one detail, you can bet he’ll screw it up. Cheese doodles—you’ve never liked the hard, crunchy ones but you forgot to write it down, so guess which ones he comes home with? Three pound bags of apples are on sale—get two. Only you forgot to say the plastic-bagged ones. He comes home with the paper-bagged variety despite the fact that they weigh a lot more than three pounds and are twice the price per pound.

I’m stubborn. I haven’t given up and given him the satisfaction of insisting on doing it myself. He still runs errands and I try to remember every possible detail to keep him on track. My memory’s getting too old for this.

Wednesday—maybe more bashing, maybe I’ll be in a different mood.