So I’m watching 24 last night.
I’m not big into tv, but this show holds my interest. Or maybe it’s just Keifer Sutherland.
Fresh from resolving a deadly hostage crisis at an airport, our hero is threatening to carve out the eyeballs of a traitor who is blackmailing the president. Nerve gas is missing and in the hands of Russian terrorists. Chaos abounds, but Jack Bauer is cool and in control as usual.
Suddenly, his phone rings.
“Do you still love me, Jack?” a voice quivers pleadingly on the line. It’s his ex-girlfriend who hated him, thought he was dead, discovered he was still alive and fell in love with him again – all in less than 10 minutes.
“Do you still love me?”
Jack is out SAVING the FREE WORLD.
And his ex is on the phone whining like a little bitch.
Knowing what he does for a living, knowing the shit he’s in, wouldn’t you feel just a little guilty even calling him? And she works for the president for Pete’s sake. She should know better.
Actually, what was more unbelievable was the fact that Jack didn’t rip her a new one and hang up on her.
“Hello? Do you realize what I’m doing here, you silly twat? I’m a little busy yanking the president’s head out of his ass. Could we talk about your love life over coffee sometime when I’m not in the middle of a deadly shit-storm?”
Unfortunately that scenario – as unbelievable as it is – is very true to life.
It’s just what we do.
I don’t dislike women. Seriously.
I am blessed with amazing friends who are some of the brightest, most compassionate and genuine women on the planet.
But let’s admit it, ladies. Sometimes we’re our own worst enemies.
Most men don’t want to talk about love and feelings under normal circumstances, let alone during Top Secret Deadly Missions.
At the very worst and best moments, we’re hormonal and insecure and needy AND YOU BOUGHT THE WRONG FUCKING MAYONAISE, YOU ASSHOLE!!!”
There’s a true story behind that one, friends.
Jim will be happy to tell you how he still twitches with anxiety when buying mayonnaise, checking the label twice, because of a particularly brutal PMS crisis in our house five years ago.
Some folks say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Many women don’t even realize they do it and take great offense at the mere suggestion that PMS plays a role in how they act.
The sad thing is, I’ve admitted the problem and I still act like an emotional idiot on a fairly regular basis.
So c’mon, whaddaya say? Let’s do it now, for the men we know and love:
I, [state your name}, am a woman and therefore subject to wild mood swings, irrational speculations, and general bitchiness. There’s no way to prepare for or anticipate my moods. But I will try to be more aware of my hormone-induced behavior when it occurs and I will try not to take it out on you, [SO’s name here].
It’s a start, eh?
I am listening to: The State of the Union Address
I am reading: Newsweek
And I am: Relaxed
2 hours ago