The other day I came up with a great topic for gender difference, you know, the central topic of our blog. Then I was forced to eat crow.You see, as most men will confirm, woman have a tendency to forget the little things. Oh no, they’ll remember that you forgot their birthday 22 years ago. Those issues are important. But when it comes to the trivial stuff like where did they put their car keys or their cell phone, … well you get the idea. I know when ever I hear the words, “Where are my keys,” they will be followed by, “Michael!!!!!, what did you do with my keys.” That phrase is never followed by, “Oh, silly me, I forgot I left them in the car.” Or “My fault, they were in my pocketbook all along.” Even though that’s where she finds them, I still never heard, “Sorry, sweetie. It wasn’t you after all.”

Don’t worry. We men are experienced at taking the blame for things we did not do. We figure it’s why you married us, you need someone to blame because as we all know, ladies are perfect. But lately, it’s been getting worse, I mean, well here’s an example. Now that we’ve passed the fifties milestone, she’s become severely afflicted by forgetitus. I’m accustomed to going behind my wife and shutting the fridge door, or closing the outside door she leaves open in the winter, or cutting the stove off (yeah, that one scares me), or charging her cell phone and replacing it in her purse so it will work when she needs it, just those little things. Sadly, over the past 3 months, I’ve become afflicted myself.

The most serious case was this morning when I hear her high pitched scream from the bathroom. When we travel, I always cut off the water heater. It saves electricity and if the bottom of the vessel busts (it’s happened), then the elements inside won’t burn down the house. Only this time I forgot to switch it back on when we got home the night before. Actually, I love the image of a woman running around in the buff, but not when she is chasing me with daggers in her eyes yelling “I’ve only got thirty minutes till they pick me up for the garden club meeting.” Problem is, I’ve done this three times in as many months. No, it’s not some cruel attempt at payback (that’s a different post). I’ve just become contaminated by forgetitus. So, guess I’ll eat crow on this post since the idea boomeranged on me.

See ya in a few weeks.

Big Mike
Davisstories.com

I know that’s a strange question to ask one’s self. Most would say, “Who cares.” Ah, but that’s not me. I always analyze every facet, ever premise in my existence, I’m just weird like that. Some would consider me AR, and perhaps they’re right, but I am what I am. Damn, I digest again (do that a lot lately). Anyway. As I was writing the passage, I was seated next to my wife on the couch, only as usual, she was sawing a cord of wood next to me (e.g. asleep).

I stared at her for several minutes and pondered why I love this woman, why do I need her presence in my day, why is it when we’re apart, I feel less than whole?

Now hold on to your socks because you may disagreement, but for me I reached an epiphany. It wasn’t all the years we had spent together. I’ve always loved her. It wasn’t the physical. I would still love her even if that were gone (though I would be an unhappy camper). So what the hell was it? Then it hit me in the heart like the radiant heat of a warm fireplace. It was all the things that differentiated her from me as a woman. Truth is I feel warm emotions toward most feminine women because of how they differ from me. Their tiny hands, their small feet, their constant sparkling eyes, the tone of their voice, the fact they can only lift 1/5 of what I can, there soft skin, the crazy confusing way they communicate, their need to be protected from the scum and demons in our world, their fragile emotions, everything that makes them different from me makes me love them all the more.

Maybe its an evolutionary thing. We men have evolved to relate specifically to all the differences. In that way, we glue our existence to that of a woman in order to form and foster the family unit and thereby perpetual the species. That behavior, in term, makes us more attracted toward the examples we see in the other gender that are more different and thereby the difference expands.

Of course there are women out there that have lost the concept of what being feminine really means, like those nasty bossy ones in congress. But romance stories aren’t about them and I don’t sense that warm fuzziness for them anyway.

Now I know that sounds corny, and I’m committed to only one woman in my soul, but I adore most feminine women for that very reason, because they’re so damn different. I don’t feel that way about guys, only women. I like guys as buds, but my linkage with them is different. The question that remains is, “Do women feel positively for men for the same reason?” Do they get a warm response inside when they deal with men other than their spouses because they are so different from them as a woman? And is that part of the equation that attracts them to their soul mate; namely the difference? I don’t know, but it was enlightening for me as a man, and helped better express the hero’s emotions toward the heroine. And why would the way I feel be relevant to writing about the hero? Because, in my stories, in some form or shape, there’s a little of me in all my heroes, except for the six pack abs and curly hair. Those days have disappeared.

Till next time
Big Mike
Davisstories.com