And I don’t mean my sticky platelets that clogged the three major arteries to my heart so much it nearly killed me. Not that… I’m just not normal. But I’m okay with it. Several decades and a brush with death later, I’m finally okay with just being who I am. I’m good.
I’m happy I don’t follow the Official Rules of Guydom for one thing. I don’t spit or scratch, for instance. I don’t fart or belch, not with any regularity, anyway, not openly, not with pride. Now— I have no solid proof of this but I’d be willing to bet a lot of other guys don’t either. It’s like high school gym class: a few screw-ups ruined it for the rest of us and now we’re stuck living a one-dimensional stereotype.
Women are allowed to have facets; they can be a bitch or a mother if they want to, a sinner and a saint. In mindless pop tunes, anyway, but I’m a guy.
Guys get: NASCAR and power tools and body hair. Beer and sports and odor.
Guys get: work. Work then sudden, massive heart failure— no medical help because the Guy Rules say men don’t go to doctors —and an untimely death. There is, after all, no crying in baseball… Or at your therapist. Or anywhere else in a man’s world. And there’s no caring or grooming or thinking for that matter.
Yeah, well, screw that noise. I’m not playing that game. I refuse. I’ve got facets. And I’m betting the rest of MANkind does, too.
I make the bed and dinner, sometimes.
I can change the oil in a car or the diaper on a baby.
I shed a tear during chick flicks occasionally and I don’t use war analogies to describe business practices.
For a straight guy, I think I dress pretty well. Okay, I don’t tuck much but I’m color coordinated.
I have never painted myself in preparation for the Big Game. In fact, I don’t refer to any game by its size because the sports section isn’t the first place I turn to in the morning paper. Neither is business.
I don’t love musicals, though I’ve sat through my share.
I iron shirts.
I usually hang out with the women at neighborhood parties because, for one thing, they’re better looking.
I don’t punch people hello, do the exploding fist bump thing, and I never wrestle.
So yeah, I’m an abnormal guy. But I’m okay with this. And I think it’s about time we abnormal guys stood up for our facets and showed off our other two dimensions.
C’mon guys! Who’s with me?