Well happy Monday everyone (as though there is such a thing) and welcome to another entry in my epic three part Valentines series of seriousness. So far, we’ve touched on men, donuts, and the perils of neck scarves and I am just getting warmed up!! Today as promised we’ll move on to talking about the other side of this particularly confusing two sided coin: the woman. So here without any additional heming or hawing or Hepsibub’s is some bold font:
Women are like Spaghetti
As I’ve mentioned previously in these posts women are (according to a study I’m pretty sure I read) capable of speaking simultaneously in up to eleven different languages. Languages like: spoken language, body language, voice pitch, voice fluctuation, eye contact, pig latin, crocheting, floppsy, moppsy, cottontail, and Gilmore girls. Women can do this cause their brains are able to do something called “multi-tasking” whereas men are generally relegated to simple “uni-tasking” a word that I probably made up. Let’s take a look at a plate of spaghetti for a second shall we?
As you may have noticed from the above visual aid, plates of spaghetti can be very confusing. It may not look confusing to you when you sit there with a knife and a fork and go to eat it, but let’s not fool ourselves: men are not equipped with a knife and fork. When women talk to women they are appropriately equipped with a knife and a fork and able to intricately pick apart the plate in front of them. Men on the other hand are equipped with oven mitts dipped in liquid butter, the men are then expected to be able to separate each individual piece of spaghetti from each other individual piece of spaghetti and then discuss how each piece of spaghetti makes them feel on a deep emotional level. Then (directly before the man starts) the oven mitts are lit on fire.
As a woman reading this post you are probably thinking “Micah, it is not that hard to understand women.” But let me once again remind you of one essential fact: you are a woman. Men reading this article are nodding their heads vigorously and nursing third degree burn wounds from their oven mitt roasted hands. I’m not saying that women are impossible to understand, I’m saying women are impossible for men to understand. If I were to sit down with an Ant and try to explain the theory of relativity it wouldn’t really matter how well I understand the theory of relativity (something about cousins travelling at half the speed of light, right?) because the ant lacks the genetic predisposition to understand me. Similarly: men lack the genetic predisposition to not be insensitive idiots.
Another aspect of the “Women are like spaghetti” analogy is that spaghetti is a fairly messy food.
It’s wonderful mind you, but fairly necessary. I have been known to eat spaghetti in a full environmental hazard suit and still get spaghetti stains on my white shirt which I may or may not even be wearing at the time. This is not entirely the spaghetti’s fault, nor is it entirely the fault of me or my medieval dining styles, it just comes with the territory. Relationships between men and women are rarely (which is to say: never ever never never) entirely smooth affairs. Reasons for this vary but just to throw out an arbitrary example, let’s say that a woman (who will call Surely) tells her boyfriend (who we will call… Burly) that she doesn’t want him to get her anything for Valentine’s day. Burly hears this and thinks: “she wants nothing for Valentine’s day” but Surely (and pay very close attention here guys) really wants something. See, when Surely says “I don’t want anything for Valentine’s day” what Surely means is “I don’t want anything for Valentine’s day: unless you really love me.”
So when Burly shows up on Valentine’s day in his old sandals and a Celtics shirt that he borrowed from his roommate Surely will be upset because she thinks that he must not really love her. Burly meanwhile will spend hours and hours of the vapor that is his life not noticing that Surely is mad at him. Several months later it may occur to Burly that Surely broke up with him the day after Valentine’s day, and if Burly is feeling very alert and has been very well fed recently it may briefly flash across Burly’s mind that he probably should have done something for Valentine’s day but moments after that Burly’s mind will be completely occupied by other extremely vital information such as: “I wonder whatever happened to that Celtics shirt?”
Surely this situation is not Surely’s fault (a dual Surely sentence that I’ve been planning for months) because in Surely’s mind it would take someone with the IQ of a Mountain Goat not to pick up on the four thousand subtle hints that she dropped in Burly’s direction. Her first mistake of course was assuming that Burly possessed the IQ of a Mountain Goat and her second mistake was the use of subtle hints. Men do not do well with subtle hints, we are not (as a rule) Sherlock Holmes or (as another rule) particularly bright. Most men require hints the size of Mack trucks to be actively running them over in the street in order for them to grasp an idea and even then you have about a fifty fifty chance of them actually drawing the correct response to the hint.
Neither is this tragedy entirely the fault of Burly who, if he had been hit with a Valentine’s day themed Mack truck, would surely have done his best to give Surely (there’s another one) a good Valentine’s day. Relationships are messy, it is a women’s job to try and do her best just like it’s a man’s job to try and read the print on the side of any trucks that happen to be running him over.
The third “women are like spaghetti” point is that there are many different kinds of spaghetti and each one is distinct from the others while also being very much spaghetti.
Men the world over have a chance to find the spaghetti that is just right for them, slip into their hazmat suits, slide on their oven mits and get to the messy, wonderful, hilarious process that we call “relationships.” It’s not always easy, it’s not always fun, but many many years from now as you and your spaghetti plate sit on your porch and look back at all the years you have spent together, in good times and bad, you will look at each other, share a smile, and very slowly the Mack truck will begin backing it’s way off of your solar plexus.
Thanks for reading everyone, happy Valentine’s day!