This time of year many men get together with friends, building bromances watching basketball.
Unlike women, men in groups engage in competitions to determine their male superiority over the losers in their herd. Men are very self-conscious about their manhood. That’s why they must constantly check to see if it’s still there.
Studies show men talk to each other about four subjects: work, women, sports, and caulk. And they’re concerned about things women find irrelevant.
For example, after I had lunch with a new friend Charlene, my husband asked me what her husband did for a living. I looked at him like he’d just asked me who won the Heisman in 1970 (like I was even BORN then. . . Wooo hooo! Wine just came out of my nose).
I shrugged. “Seeing as how Charlene ordered a Mai Tai and was uneasy until she balanced the negative energy of her Riblet Basket with the doorway, I presume he’s a feng shui love doctor. Geez! HOW the heck should I know?”
My sistah girls and I also meet occasionally to discuss Ryan Reynolds and other global issues—like if they’ve ever accidentally passed gas doing the Downward Dog. Or if, while studying for a college exam, they’ve ever yelled out during Miami Vice, “Cuff me, Sonny Crockett! I’ve been bad!” Not that I’VE done that.
Reliable sources from Ripley’s Believe It Or Not! state that women speak three times more words per day than men. And when together, females speak in a “stream of consciousness” manner about infinite topics. The chemicals responsible for this are estrogen and sometimes tequilaphrine.
On a recent outing to Taco Loco, my friends and I verified Ripley’s theory. We began discussing female speech patterns and continued in order: male pattern baldness; Matt Lauer; why did they replace Ann Curry on The Today Show and is she three-quarters Asian; actually somebody heard she’s Thai, and in her native language, “Ann Curry” means “sum dum dip stik,” and why on earth would a mama name her baby that?
Then we talked about evil mamas; that heinous woman Casey Anthony and her poor little girl she smothercated; poor Honey Boo Boo and how her mama’s not doing her any favors either and are they really THAT redneck; how they ride four-wheelers through the woods and dumpster-dive; how somebody’s sister went into the woods once and saw a humongous snake and killed it with a nearby hoe—which brought us to Britney Spears.
Then it was cheese dip gives me gas; gas prices; Iraq; is Iraq close to Africa; isn’t that where Obama’s daddy’s from; why are women HORRIBLE at math; Obama’s daddy abandoned him and that was pretty “trashy”; and then Britney Spears.
Men and women socialize differently, but spending time with friends always results in clarity and a renewed sense of who they are. I hope Ann Curry, being unemployed and all, makes time to Jazzercize with her peeps, Queen Latifah and Richard Simmons, and discovers a new sense of who she is—a smart, independent journalist who’s three-quarters Asian. I wonder what the other half is.