Growing up I was surrounded by women, covered with them. I
don’t write this to propose that I was a heavy-duty pimp daddy who was tossing
girlfriends left and right throughout the duration of my adolescence. No, this
is only a setup to inform you about how I lived in a house full of females.
Eleven of them to be specific. Go ahead and add a pretty girly Dad into the
mix who was so emotionally high-strung he would sit and cry at Nike
commercials.
True story. The man once bawled his eyes out during a
30-second motivational cut narrated by Magic Johnson that ended with the line “Just
Do It”.
For full effect, download “Doo Wop” by Lauryn Hill and play
at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
I open with the brief history of my feminine-scarred
childhood simply because in the 28 years I’ve been traveling God’s green earth
there are a few things my sisters have taught me. Yes, in my entire
estrogen-caked heritage the sisters I had that were fighting over clothes, over
boys, and over chocolate may or may not have helped show me some of the laws
and doctrines that make up survival in their world.
I would like to add that growing up I kept a journal mainly
for two reasons. One, to have some formal record that I actually existed,
because if a female tantrum over who used their hairspray would have left me
dead and rotting in a basement closet, at least somebody would have written
proof that I was a real person. And two, to record all of the facts of life
those women taught me when they weren’t brawling over stolen hair products.
These are those facts of life:
There is never a correct answer to the question “Do I look
fat?” Simply present chocolate as a peace offering.
Black shoes are stupid and restrict your wardrobe.
Five minutes in a woman’s time is the equivalent to 90
minutes in a man’s time. If a woman says
“Give me five minutes”, you then have the freedom to change your oil, grill a
steak, shoot a deer and watch seven innings of baseball while she puts on her
mascara.
Women do not actually care about men’s opinion. If a woman asks
for a man’s perspective on something, simply blather on about some random
tangent. She’s not listening whatsoever.
Always open a girl’s door when you take her out.
Just because a girl is not wearing an article of clothing to
school does not mean that her sister of equal size and shape can borrow that same
article of clothing to wear. It stays in the closet.
Sometimes a girl has to come home from work, get all dolled
up, hop in the car with her friends, go to the club, and “just dance, they just
gotta dance.” Don’t ask questions.
If a girl says “Go Ahead”, DO NOT go ahead. Go in the
complete opposite direction.
Never, EVER reference a past girlfriend on a date. If so,
you are only booking a one-way ticket to Not-Getting-Any-Action-ville.
High heels are the most effective and damaging weapon to use
when a verbal fight escalates into an all out brawl.
If a woman says she is fine, she is not fine.
“Oprah” is more important than “Sportscenter”.
Kissing a girl means a hell of a lot more than just kissing
a girl. Kissing a girl means you are looking to change your Facebook
status.
It is a requirement to L-word every haircut a female gets.
Don’t. Ever. Touch. Her. Makeup.
If a girl asks for the last piece of chocolate in your hand,
you give her the last piece of chocolate in your hand, unless you are looking
for her to eat your entire hand.
Women stop getting older once they reach the age of 39.
A man will never know the pain and agony a woman feels when
her uterus is dilating to the size of a pea and back. Don’t ever think a kick
in the nuts can compare to her 72-hour torture.
Every man should have the words “Yes dear” and “I’m sorry”
ingrained as automatic replies.
And finally, the mother of all rules that should be tattooed
on every man’s forehead if they want to survive in the world of women; a man is
never, ever, EVER right.
