Note: This "Grounds for Insanity" column comes from the archives. Just having come through a challenging week, I'm taking a break by sharing this classic piece. And after noting the depressing headlines on my favorite news website, I'm doing my civic duty by offering up some humor to take you into the weekend. Happy Friday!
Growing up in a family where
women outnumbered the men three to two, life seemed pretty fair and
balanced. On my father’s side, there
were 19 cousins, 12 girls and 7 boys.
While it may not have been balanced, it was certainly fair.
I should’ve known to enjoy it
while it lasted. Back in the glory days
when girls ruled and boys drooled, there was justice in the world. Sure, there was some infighting, but if the
boys were being dumb or mean, we girls would circle the wagons and give them
what for.
Cousin Don in particular was one
of the biggest stinkers. Once in awhile,
just to keep him humble, we would gang up on him and wrestle him down so one of
us could plant a big, wet one on his cheek.
That he fought like a cornered badger goes without saying.
Naturally, my girlish dreams
centered around a knight in shining armor.
Well, he certainly showed up. But
my dreams of a nice, even mix of little knights-in-training and curly-headed
ladies-in-waiting at a round table?
Ha! We got the little knights,
but there is no round table, and the only curly-headed lady is me, although
it’s true – I’m always waiting.
Part of my calling in life, I
believe, is to inject as much estrogen as I can into my world. If this sounds noble, it’s not. It’s a matter of survival, really, and it’s
my attempt to keep my frail pink canoe from being swamped in a sea of
testosterone. That’s why, for instance,
I carry my keys on a ring that holds a little pink dress. It makes the other drivers in my house very
nervous. They have whiskers, see, and
low voices. They’d rather walk barefoot
over a bed of nails than to be caught carrying the pink dress. If they absolutely have to use my keys, they
get buried deep in a pocket or in the depths of my red purse before one
masculine toe exits the van.
I was reminded recently of the
stark difference between “pink think” and “blue think” when we went to pick out
new cell phones. The teenager was
largely concerned about available music features. Mr. Schrock basically wanted a handheld
office manager – a touch-screen phone with Word, Excel, Power Point, an iPod,
and a Day Planner that would sync to his computer and start the coffee in the
mornings. And I? I was going by color.
The two left-brain males I was
shopping with looked at me as if I’d sprouted a third eyeball in the middle of
my forehead. They rolled their
eyes. They shook their heads. They chuckled between themselves at my
feminine excitement when I found a pearly pink one with a built-in Walkman and
FM radio. Seeing as how someone ignored
my not-so-subtle hints for an iPod last year for a very big birthday, you’d
think he would’ve shown some glee himself at having bought some time.
Another area in which pink brains
and blue brains differ greatly is communication. Men, I’ve noted, can summarize their whole
day in one word. “How was school today?”
I will ask a returning scholar. “Good,” he replies. “So what happened?” I press
on. “Nothing,” he says. “Really?” I say. “Nothing happened?” “Nope.”
Ask a girl what happened at
school and you get a two-hour commentary on who wore what, who’s fighting, who
likes whom, and what the social climate on the bus was like. This goes on until your ears have no feeling. The conversation is punctuated by tears
and/or laughter, and sometimes both in the same sentence. Surely this has nothing to do with why my dad
and brother spent so much time in the woods.
In the absence of an in-house
English professor, I have taken it upon myself to sharpen the communication
skills around here. Using flash cards
and flip charts, we conduct drills on important things like adjectives. “Give me three,” I say, “and ‘good,’ ‘fine,’
and ‘nice’ don’t count.”
The reason I persevere despite
many setbacks is actually for the good of their future marriages. When a woman says, “Does this make me look
fat,” a fellow had better be able to think on his feet. Having a few good describing words to pull
out of his hat could really save his bacon.
Slumber parties and gift giving look
entirely different as well. Per one
son’s recent report, their slumber parties consist of pretending they’re WWE
wrestlers and throwing each other’s plaid boxers up in the tree. This just doesn’t sound like a good time to
me.
I can’t drum up any excitement
about the kinds of gifts they give, either.
Things like a gear shift head that lights up in the dark. Or an Airsoft gun that shoots plastic BBs,
which is then used mercilessly at the next slumber party. Now, give me things like Bath and Body Works, clothes money, or a new
purse to go with that pink phone, and I can come up with some adjectives for
you – if your ears can handle it, that is.
5 comments:
A pink dress on your key ring...how cleaver! It's a good idea to make your boys use adjectives. I didn't accomplish that with mine. They still use 1 word answers.
Glad I can read your blog instead of the newspaper.
Happy Weekend to you too!
It was my desire to (try) keep Logan color gender neutral as he grew up but there is a chip that kicks in somewhere around age 5. We were in Wal-Mart and he refused to go down the PINK aisle to get to the lighting department. Of course I turned on his dad to demand why he thought the pink aisle was a problem, who just shrugged his shoulders. So much for trying.
Same aound here, except when it came to buying a camera. I found one that was pink and cute, he wanted the black/silver industrial looking one. We got the pink ;)
Yes, "good", "fine", and "nice" don't count in my book either. Although my girl, the third child after two boys, could often fall into her brothers' answering patterns. I did learn, though, that if a mom waits, she spills the beans about her day in good time, when she has processed it and is ready to share. So patience is a virtue when it comes to dealing with the pink, curly-haired set too. (She really does have curls!)
So glad to hear your phone goes with the new purse. Whew. You might have had to get a new phone.
Waving northward,
Karen
If my son always answered in one word answers, we wouldn't have been friends. I learned to ask 'open ended' questions. I have learned when he goes to the one word answers, it means he's not doing very well or he doesn't want to talk about something.
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