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I’ve got to say, men, we’ve really let ourselves go. We’re like that significant other who kept it tight for the first year then tossed it away in a slippery slope of Fiddle Faddle and Orange Is The New Black binge watching. I don’t like what we’re becoming: a pack of callow, feckless man-babies. I was listening to a podcast yesterday and the guest was this guy who had written a book about raising a girl. The author said, “Am I right to do this? Does a white male have the right to tell a female what to do?” You mean like your daughter? Yes, you fool. Absolutely. Especially if she’s your daughter! I had to turn it off. I couldn’t listen anymore to this guy apologizing for having life experiences worth sharing to his child and I thought Man! Act Like One!
Dress Like A Man, Not A Kid
I took my wife to see Wicked for her birthday. I love the theater. I love any event that needs me to wear a tie, throw some Brylcreem in my hair, to put a little effort into myself. So it’s a shock to me as I watch men schlepping to their seats like frat boys at a baseball game. I see women after women decked out in beautiful backless dresses, hair did. I see women presenting themselves with graceful elegance while the oaf they’re locking arms with sport cargo shorts and flip-flops. Wha- wha- what? Is this how we represent ourselves, now? These seats cost a hundred bucks a pop but you can’t afford a pair of Dockers and some loafers? This isn’t a hillbilly jamboree. You’re not mowing the yard. You’re taking your best gal out on the town. She bothered to dress up. She wanted to look her best for her man. Is she not worth the same effort? Shame. All you need is a Polo shirt and some khakis, or maybe not, if you have a gut then you’ll look like a high school football coach. How about a nice pair of clean jeans and a button up shirt, maybe a jacket. It won’t kill you take off the Mossy Oak cap, either.
Why Is She Always Driving?
I know an uncomfortably large amount of men who don’t drive their own vehicles. Their wives drive them everywhere: to work, to a restaurant, literally all over the place. That’s just weird to me. And I’m not saying women shouldn’t drive, this isn’t Saudi Arabia. I don’t care what they drive. I’m not worried about the ladies. The ladies are doing great. But it makes me wonder how these men succeed in business when they can’t even succeed in driving their kids to school. It’s just lazy. It’s childish. You know the last time a woman drove me somewhere? When I was a kid and I needed my mom to give me a ride to the mall. And sometimes she said no because she was tired from work. Do these wives ever tell their husbands no? “Sorry, hon. I’m beat. I put in a ten-hour workday and raised our kids while you watched Orange Is The New Black. By the way, where’s all the Fiddle Faddle?”
Hug Your Son
It’s absurd that I should even have to write that, but here we are. I’ve been told there gets to be an age when hugging your son might make him “soft” or “kind of gay”. Sweet Christmas, what are you afraid of? He’ll grow up to be a Chippendale’s dancer? He’s a nine-year-old, snaggletooth youngster, with barely enough coordination to hop on one foot. Kids have their whole adult lives to realize the world is a loveless place where people want to crush their dreams. Do we really want to start that lesson before elementary school? If men put half as much effort into showing affection as they do trying to look like they just finished a round of disc golf before going to a play, I wouldn’t have to write this blog. And, yes, that sentence makes total sense, just read it slower. Simple fact, if you won’t show love, your kids won’t learn how to show love. You can tell someone you love them all day long and I can tell my mom I’m a published blogger but she still won’t believe me. Proof is in action. Proof is a hug around the neck and a kiss on the head. Proof is three freaking articles on Totally The Bomb! How about that, Mom? Three articles! Who should have gone to AC repair school now?
Men, we’ve got to do better. For God’s sake, present yourselves like you care. It’s not for you, it’s for her, you jerk. You’re probably in your thirties by now, maybe late twenties, but you’re certainly not in an Adam Sandler movie. Stop dressing like you are. And drive your cars. I’m making fun of you. Me! Have you seen my bio picture down below? I’m the fat guy with glasses at the bottom of a rainbow and I’m mocking you. How does that feel? Show your wife that you can do something besides set your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures in cool poses, as I am currently doing. Donatello rules! Also, hug your son. I do. It makes them better people. It makes us better people. And we need all the help we can get.