Some men are afraid of women. I don’t mean physically – although some men are physically afraid of women. I mean mentally. Mentally speaking, most boys are terrified of women. This is why boys tell so many ignorant bold-faced lies that they could in no way shape or form ever get away with. There are “grown men” at this very moment denying to some woman that it’s not them clearly pictured in an Instagram/Tweet/Facebook photo. The Shaggy ‘It Wasn’t Me’ defense is in full affect.
Many women here can attest that men tell stupid lies. Lies they have no business telling and likely won’t get away with anyway. I’m not saying women don’t lie, because they do. Women are The Walking Dead of living liars: fake hair, fake eyelashes, fake nails, make-up, heels, plucked this, shaved that, altered lips, breasts, and butts, and the list goes on and on. Despite all the visual deceit – which I’m sure many women will say is a man’s fault anyway, because we all know everything a woman chooses to do is inadvertently a man’s fault – many of the verbal lies women tell are fairly logical. I’m not encouraging lying, but if you’re going to lie, go big or go home, like this girl.
Like many of us, men included, you’ve probably wondered to yourself: Why do men lie, even when they don’t have to? The answer is simple: men are scared of women, especially the “unknown” reactions women might have if they were engaged in a serious conversation and treated like the adults they are. As someone less eloquently stated on Twitter, “Women have to go crazy…in order to deal with men.” There are many reasons why this condition exists. but I’ll stick with the simplest explanation.
Women are free(er) to be emotional.
Men hate emotional confrontations. I cannot stress this enough. HATE IT! When confronted with emotion, a number of men will shut down. If they have the option, they’ll avoid it all together. This mentality is bread in us at a young age.
The other day, for instance, I was playing with a three-year-old girl. Somewhere along the way we had a misunderstanding. I don’t know when’s the last time you argued with a child, but it’s definitely not an activity I would recommend for the faint of heart. The political correct barriers enforced on adults don’t hamper children. If a child has something on his or her mind, they’re going to let you know. They think you’re ugly, they tell you. They wonder what that fat roll feels like, they poke it. They don’t like you, they tell you in no unconditional terms, “I don’t like you.” WIM love the kids, but I’d be doing you all a disservice to pretend like they don’t come from a different planet. If men are from Mars and women are from Venus, then children are from
I say all this to say, at one point said child-woman and I disagreed about the outcome of a playtime activity. I started to plead my case, like an adult. She didn’t bother with all that logical, adult-like nonsense. She started whining, and then she hinted as if she might cry. I emphasize the word might because she didn’t even get to the second-gear of crying. She was still in neutral and I caved to her whims – like a punk. As I was reflecting on this event many hours later, I realized that I undoubtedly set the wheels in motion in her little three-year-old child-like-woman-mind. In Seinfeld terms, “she had hand.”
The worst part is that she didn’t even play her cards! For all I know, she was bluffing, but instead of calling her on it, I folded! Unbeknownst to me at that time, like the butterfly in Africa, my actions likely set in motion a trillion microscopic, undetectable events in the universe. This will lead to an inevitable apex in the form of a hurricane-like torrential downpour of emotion upon the wide-eyed, clueless head of her future husband. I feel like I owe this anonymous future-man a heartfelt apology! By simply balking at the IDEA of her crying, I became the accomplice to a long string of men that she will surely manipulate to her will, using only the THREAT of emotion. Heaven forbid she actually got emotional!
Flipping the script, had this been a small boy, I would have definitely called his bluff. If he started crying, I’d have pushed him in the center of his still-developing-fragile-boned chest and told him to “MAN UP!” in an emphatic and equally masculine baritone voice. For him, setting in motion a butterfly-effect that climaxes in gale force winds filled with sarcasm, suppressed emotions, and passive aggressiveness upon the furrowed eyebrows of his future wife!
Sorry, future los niños! I’ve failed you! But there’s more. Check out the second page.
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