It’s a side effect of being female that men’s behaviour is almost always incomprehensible.
“But we’re so simple,” said Old Friend when I quizzed him about the phenomenon and the finer inner workings of the male brain. “‘Show up naked, bring beer.’ That’s essentially all there is to it.”
Huh. If only.
Best Mate has been having a rotten time of it with The Chorister of late. Having come back to Edinburgh (where the air’s a little clearer, even if the water isn’t), she’s decided that their ‘thing’ has got to end. Not only was the sex abysmal, there are 350 intervening miles with which to contend, along with the fact that trying to make any sort of contact with The Chorister while Best Mate is in Edinburgh is proving harder than prising a Choo out of the cold, dead grasp of Sarah-Jessica Parker.
“ARGH! It’s driving me WILD!” Best Mate yelled, devouring a jammy Wagon Wheel with great intensity. “It’s been THREE DAYS that I’ve been trying to end things with this boy and I’ve not been able to get hold of him in three days, which means I’ve not been able to end things. Which is ironic, as the reason I’m trying to end things is because I can never get hold of him. ARGH!”
I could understand this lack of communication on The Chorister’s part if he were losing interest or – as goes the charming phrase – ‘just not that into her’. But what little and sporadic contact there is seems not only entirely to contrast this idea, but exist solely via email – I really enjoyed the weekend. I hope you did too! and I’d love to see you when you’re next at home. When are you next at home? None of which is particularly conducive either to ending, or continuing, a functional long-distance relationship.
And at the other end of the ‘What Are You Thinking?’ spectrum, we have another specimen.
“No, no, no, no, no,” I said, staggering beneath the weight of 4 months’ worth of newspapers and magazines we were taking for recycling. “This is no time to be reading the neighbours’ postcards.”
Best Mate had stooped to the floor in the shared hall and was busy reading a postcard with a somewhat clichéd sunset on the front. “I’m not,” she said, distracted, as she opened the door and we made our way out to the car. “It’s yours.”
Hello lovely! I’m in sunny Eastbourne. Seeing as I’m a tourist in my own home, I thought I’d send you a postcard. Bet you wish you were here, don’t you?! No, I suppose not. I’ll call you. Love, Speckled Lad xxx
The first thing that struck me was that we should either read fewer papers, or do the recycling more frequently. The second was that yes, actually, I do rather wish I were in Eastbourne.
“What?” I said to Best Mate, who was looking at me the way she does – with one eyebrow cocked and an alarmingly sceptical flash in her eye – when she thinks something’s fishy. “It’s just a postcard…”
“I know,” she said, starting the car. “I just wonder what he’s playing at and whether his girlfriend would go ape if she knew he’d sent you that. My money’s on ‘yes’.”
What Ms. Speckled Lad doesn’t know about her man won’t hurt her. What Best Mate and I don’t know about men would fill several tomes, several times. Maybe a train ticket down to the south coast will provide me with my answers. So long as I’m naked. With beer.
“Your task, should you choose to accept it…”
1 hour ago
13 comments:
It sounds like 'ol speckled lad is a playa! Is he trolling? If he is disatisfied with ms speckleds sporadic naked appearances avec beer then don't you think that he should cut the line before he goes fishin'...hmmm.
ixnay the onglay istanceday elationshipray!
I'd also bank on the current Ms. Speckled Lad not being all that happy if she found out he was sending postcards to other lovely ladeez.
pah. That's her problem, not yours.
heh heh heh
I prefer semi-naked. With wine.
Oh and that postcard... why not send one back?
I agree with Billy. A little black dress and some good wine will do fine, thank you. What happened to the passport? If you really did lose it then get a new one and avoild the whole ID card thing for ten years. Mine got stolen last year which turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
Funny you should post this about men. I have a similar post, though from the other angle, on my blog:
http://www.fortytwoproductions.net/dave/
The making of a man: Eat, shit, fuck and sleep.
Homo E: I have no idea what he's doing. And yes, he should cut the line, but sadly I can't make him do it any faster, much as I'd like to. And the LDR is about to be ixnayd, just as soon as BM can actually get hold of him.
Lord B: Thank you!! That's what I think. I can't stop him sending me postcards. 'Snot my fault. Ahem.
Billy: Red, or white? And yes, I think I shall.
Leighton: Thankfully I've not actually lost my passport, although I do feel that I need another one to cross over to the foreign land of "Understanding Men".
Dave: Huh. But you're NOT that simple, really, are you?! It's all a ploy.
Occasionally I show up with beer. That always goes down well. Never thought to try the other.
Just read that back, and realised that there's a pun in there somewhere. Completely unintentional.
I can't work out whether coming up with unintentional puns is a talent or annoying character trait.
Red, unless food was involved or it was a very hot day.
A good red though. Hannah, it seems you need a very special passport. Try to remember men are just as complicated as women but just pretend to be stupid. It's a kind of herd instinct like football. My girlfriend pretends to be complicated when really she is very simple. I go along with her and we have a great time together. We just try to make each other happy.
Interesting. I just applied for a new passport because I lost mine too.
Canada or bust!
My best male friend tells me that all men want is beer, sex and football.
Apparently the dream is to have a woman give him a blow job while he drinks a beer and watches a match!!
LMAO
I agree with LB, not your fault if he sends you a postcard.
And, I like to think men have lost their passports. That way misunderstandings and confusion are not my fault either ;)
Mmmm. Mars.
The sad truth is that I don't understand most other men, let alone women. But I don't need to understand men, so I just care about the women bit. And of course, most of us don't even know what we want ourselves, so it's no wonder others can't figure it out.
And "show up naked, bring beer" is far too complicated. We can only do one thing at once...
And the postcard is cheating. (As in it's unfair, rather than infidelity.)
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