On the Habits of Men

It’s an idea whose time has come. But who has nerve to write it? Clearly, only someone with a reputation of questionable repute. Some men will sink low to rise high.

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It begins a few weeks ago as a tongue-in-cheek dialogue with my newspaper editor. Journalism requires balance. I learned this from the online Taught by Trump method. She puts both her job and the fortunes of her fish-wrapper newspaper on the line by accepting this scalding topic. Here’s how the conversation goes.

I suggest the title. She laughs hysterically at such absurdity. I tell her it could be her breakthrough, a career maker for her. She laughs even harder. She knows hacks when she hears one.

“Who could possibly be offended?” I ask.

She stops laughing. I seize the opportunity to slide in the obvious, “Certainly not women. They’ve endured men’s foul habits for ages. Besides, men don’t read. They prefer photographs.”

She asks about credible research material and copious annotations. I sidestep the questions. No writer reveals their sources. I want to tell her I studied the characteristics of mules for similarities, but she’s in no mood for levity, despite the significant parallels.

She pushes the issue. I demur. She’s relentless. I capitulate. “Friends in low places,” I tell her. “But I’m not naming names.” Autobiographical data needs disguising. She wants more information.

“I need examples of this cockamamie thesis,” she murmurs. “In my experience men’s traits fit into four distinct categories: Ignorance, Stupidity, Annoying and Disgusting. Which category is your basis?” Her assessment is harsh, true as it may be.

I admit men do have their idiosyncrasies. Eyesight for one. I tell her of this guy who never saw his birthday present--a grand piano--sitting in his living room. His wife had to point it out. “Typical, but boring,” she says.

I dig deeper into the data bag, pull out the one where men are like little boys who often pout in attempt to justify their infantile actions. Her ears perk up. “Specifics,” she demands.

“Simple. Men always have important meetings. Making up beds is not one.” She wants me to define ‘important.’ “Does coffee at Starbucks count?” She’s not amused.

“Here’re a couple for you,” I say. “What man doesn’t have the primal ‘fear of dishwasher-unloading’? Or, shading the truth of their whereabouts? Significant hyperbole hides in these rituals”

“Go on, I’m listening,” she says with resignation.

I sling her a zinger about a fellow who has the bed-time habits of a barbarian. I hit a nerve. Cave men content sells publications. “Explain,” she says.

I set the scene. “His wife’s asleep, right? He comes in, fluffs the feathers of three pillows and bounces onto the bed. The mattress becomes a catapult. His sleeping spouse goes airborne.”

Finally she smiles. “I want to meet this savage,” she says. “Anyone as stupid as this is a cover story. But I need more.”

“Easy,” I say. “I’ll bet even your father never read an expiration date on foods, and ate Ben and Jerry’s out of the container. He probably even drank orange juice right from the bottle, correct?” I explain it’s a covert male nocturnal proclivity. I leave out the part where they never bother to wipe off the lid.

“Gross,” she says, “a disgusting trait.”

“You want more?” I ask. “I’m just getting wound up.”

She pushes back in her chair. “OK, I’m intrigued, but what’s the article’s hidden theme?” I’m trapped. With editors, intuition is a finely-tuned antenna.

I come clean. “OK, it’s a ruse. The surreptitious theme is that women have concocted a vast, feminist conspiracy to discredit men. They’ve set men up for failure.”

“Ludicrous,” she says.

I say, “They ask questions, like, do you like my new haircut? Or, do I look frumpy in this new dress? There are no right answers to these questions. Do you agree?”

“No comment,” she says, grinning.

“Otherwise, then what do you think about the article?” I ask.

She pauses. After a long moment of silence she resurrects an Abe Lincoln quote, “Your thesis is about as thin as the homeopathic soup that was made by boiling the shadow of a pigeon that had starved to death.”

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Alas, gentlemen, it’s sad but true…women still rule in the affairs of men. A future Weakly Post might include a subjugated man’s recipe for shadow-of-pigeon soup.


Bud Hearn
October 11, 2018