I’m So Confused

I am nothing if not fair. A few weeks ago I wrote an article about how women do not understand the “art” of male conversation (“Man Talk” http://wp.me/p6DjKy-89) and I received almost unanimous agreement. At least from my male readers. So, this week I figured it would only be fair if I discussed some things that we men (meaning, me) don’t understand.

For example, according to my exhaustive and extensive research (I asked Siri), the average brunette has about 108,000 strands of hair whereas the average redhead has 90,000 (Blondes have about 140,000. I don’t know if that’s because they have really big heads or really skinny hair.)

Princess Barbara is a brunette and while far above average, she still probably has about 108,000 strands of hair (most of which end up in the drain after she showers and scares the crap out of me because I think it is a huge spider when I get in the shower). I am (or at least used to be) a redhead, ergo, I should have about 90,000 strands.

There is not a huge difference between the number of stands that Barbara has and I have, yet, for some reason, Barbara has somewhere in the area of 108,000 bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the shower whereas I have 1 bottle of shampoo and 1 bottle of conditioner. We cannot enter a Costco, CVS, grocery store or her hair salon without Barbara picking up yet another set of shampoo and conditioner. This goes for my daughters, also.

My shampoo and conditioner costs a total of $1.96 for the set. The cost of Barbara’s shampoos and conditioners average somewhere near what the Hubble telescope cost to launch. My hair products say things like VO5 or Suave on them whereas Barbara’s products have to have fancy French hairdressers names like Jaques Strappe or Pomme Frites or ridiculous names like Eau Parfumée au Thé Blanc White Tea Shampoo. (You would think that for what they charge for this stuff they could at least spell the word “perfume” correctly.)

I figured there must be something very special in these endless bottles of hair products so I checked them out and compared them to my bottle of $.98 shampoo. To my amazement, and I am not making this up, the primary ingredient in all of the shampoos is … WATER! As in H2O. As in the stuff you can get for basically free out of your bathroom faucét.

And, the second ingredient in every bottle of shampoo is something called sodium laureth sulfate which according to Wikipedia, is an “inexpensive and effective foaming agent.” Did you catch the word “inexpensive?” Thus, the reasonable price of my $.98 shampoo.

The rest of the ingredients are virtually the same in all of the shampoo bottles, whether costing $.98 or $98.00, just listed in different orders. So, please explain the need to maintain enough bottles of budget breaking shampoos and conditioners to fill Yankee Stadium. We men don’t understand.

Can someone please enlighten us men why, when a woman (Barbara) finds that her foot is swollen or after she has banged into the kitchen table and a bump develops in the area where she and the table collided, it is absolutely necessary that I actually touch and feel the swelling or the bump? Why isn’t it enough that I look at the area of swelling or the black and blue mark and commiserate? That is why my doctorate degree is in law and not in medicine. I am fairly reluctant to touch anything on the human body that is not supposed to be there. Yes, there are women parts that I thoroughly enjoy touching. But not bumps, bruises and things that just seem to magically appear.

Apparently, for women, just looking at the injury is not sufficient. I have to touch it. And, not just for a nano-second. Oh, no. I have to actually touch it for a measurable period of time. Honestly, I do not doubt that the injury is there. I do not dispute that it is probably uncomfortable. I do not deny it may be life altering. Why, then, do I have to touch it?

“Feel this.”

“I don’t need to feel it. I can see it. It must hurt.”

“Feel it.”

“I see it. I don’t need to touch it.”

“Feel it.”

“Why? I see it is swollen.”

“Feel it.”

I touch it.

“Yes, you have a bump.”

“Thank you.”

“I knew that before you made me feel it!”

Do you believe I have some kind of miracle curing power? E.T. maybe. Me? Not so much. In fact, I may actually have some kind of dormant flesh eating bacteria on my fingers that will exacerbate the problem you are experiencing. I meet and have to shake hands with a lot of strange and questionable people at the courthouse. Primarily other lawyers! I have no idea where their hands have been. Elucidate, please. We men don’t understand.

Why can’t a woman make a decision when ordering in a restaurant? I can’t even begin to count the number of times that we have gone out to eat and Barbara will place her order and then, after everyone else has ordered, she will cancel her original order and order something totally different. While I understand it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, ordering salmon the first time is not that difficult.

Women apparently have some type of union that requires that at any given meal being eaten in a restaurant, at least one of the women at the table must cancel their original order and order what one of the other women at the table has ordered. So, if a woman originally orders a pasta dish and another woman orders a salad, the first woman is not permitted to eat the pasta she really wants, but must, by union rule, change her order to a salad.

Sometimes this works to the first woman’s advantage, however. For example, if the first woman orders a salad and the other women at the table order burgers and fries, the first woman happily gets to change her order to what she really wanted in the first place, a burger and fries.

Men, on the other hand, simply do the logical thing and order what they want.

“I see Jimmy ordered the diet special. I’ll take the loaded nachos on a pizza with fries, onion rings and ice cream.”

Men don’t seem to have this “inability to decided” problem. We can go into a car dealership and within two and a half minutes order a car with our choice of 27,000 options. We can make “on the spot” decisions. Except when we are sent to the store to buy feminine hygiene products. This is the one task that absolutely paralyses our brains.

So, please clarify the dinner ordering thing to us. We men don’t understand.

Has any woman (Barbara) ever left the house on the first try? It took fewer tries for those two convicts in New York to escape from prison last year than it takes most women to leave home. I am still waiting for the first time that we leave the house and Barbara doesn’t have to go back inside.

We leave the house and I lock the front door.

“Wait. Do you have an umbrella in the car?”

“Yes. The same one that has been there since we bought the car.”

“Do I need a coat?”

“It’s 92 degrees, sunny and beautiful out.”

“I forgot a bottle of water.”

“We’re only going three miles away. If you should somehow get deathly de-hydrated, we pass at least 12 gas stations, 4 drive-throughs, 6 drug stores or grocery stores and one hospital on the way where we can pick up an emergency bottle of vitamin water.”

“Do these shoes look okay?”

“They absolutely are the best of the 37 pairs you tried on and had me look at before.”

“Did we bring something as a gift?”

“It’s a funeral.”

Ah, ha. I forgot to clean my engagement ring!”

I have no response so the front door lock is unlocked and in she goes to clean the ring, Men will leave the house on the first try. With pants on or not. Its time to go? Let’s go.

Women, please explain. We men don’t understand.