I have written occasional praises about the power of women, and have no desire to change my opinion on the subject. This entry, for example, was an attempt to show what they can accomplish with their emotion and insight and the sort of higher level of understanding that women generally have.
But let me see if I have this straight. The perfect man, as seen by these perfect women, would have to posses certain attributes and characteristics far beyond those of mortal man (are you listening, Christopher Reeve?). Being of the male gender it seems fair that I jot down these notes for myself here so that I don't have to go running for a refrigerator and a magnet to keep them well within view.
The perfect man, as seen by the perfect woman, would not only be willing to share in the pain suffered by monthly intestinal distress, he would in fact be willing to take it wholly upon himself. He would perform dynamic sexual feats on demand, as long as he was able to predict the exact hour and moment that the woman would be in need of them. The woman would never suffer for a listening companion, as he would arrive home from a day filled with screaming harpies and sit immediately for conversation of a stimulating sort, then charge off to fetch groceries and prepare a scrumptious meal (and he would, of course, clean up the resulting crockery mess afterwards).
Perhaps most importantly, the perfect man would never question the motive behind the woman's peculiar habit of recalling miniscule events or conversations that took place 10 years ago, were forgotten immediately by the man, yet were apparently so earth shattering that they took root in the woman's database of memories under the heading of "Future Ammunition." A neatly arraigned database sorted to allow the plucking of files and the opening thereof at every opportunity, preferably a public one.
Can someone please find for me a perfect man? I would very much like to meet him (perhaps not as much as the perfect woman would, but you get the idea). The first thing I would ask him is how he managed to grow to adulthood without a personality.
I'd like to take the perfect man out for a beer. Maybe Stu and I could rustle up some oysters and throw a steak on the grille and let him hang out with the fellows for a while. If he happened to look at his watch with some frequency, I'd have to take it from him. Because there are, you know, more things to do in life than to be a slave to time, even if there is a perfect woman expecting you for dinner in an hour.
Part of what makes me an imperfect man is the tendency to overlook, to be forgetful, to be grumpy without shame. I have zero interest in new-age sensitivity training, interpersonal goal setting, gender modification seminars, spousal awareness articles in Cosmopolitan magazine and online quizzes for 'Discovering the inner you'.
If I discovered the inner me I'd probably run screaming for the hills. And I'd take the perfect man with me.
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