Wednesday, May 23, 2007

A Martian Writes a Postcard Home

I've reluctantly come to the conclusion that I will never understand women. As age and decrepitude exerts it ineluctable grip I am increasingly of the opinion that it is better to sit in a corner humming to oneself than attempt to have a conversation with one of these strangely alluring creatures.

I've pondered the question of what motivates them for years. I think it's something in their gait. It's not so much that they wobble but that they walk with the unerring accuracy and intent of an exocet missile.

Here we males are quietly minding or going about our own business when we find ourselves zapped. Admittedly we end up in bed with them, which is a reasonably favourable outcome. Unfortunately, within a period of between twelve and eighteen months they walk off in the opposite direction even when we haven't said or done anything.

I spend my life in a haze of dust and small pebbles.

7 comments:

M said...

It's all about security, man. Well, a bit of other stuff, but mostly security.

I know you guys hate to do it, but have you tried "talking". It's amazing what you'll learn about a person.

Oh by the way, Hubby can't have a new scoot until the motorcycle gets paid off. Poor hubby. :-(

pissoff said...

You should see it from a woman's point of view Garf.

Arabella said...

You could try getting a dustbuster?

funny thing said...

Sounds serious.

I don't understand them either, and I am one.

Actually, I just don't understand anyone who isn't me, which is quite a few people.

suburban wonder said...

Yeah, we're a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, surrounded by an enigma.

"Talking" is helpful, I have to agree with M.

betty said...

I wonder if the woman thing has to do with the "life is something that happened when I was making other plans" thing from the previous post?

Good to see you back, anyway.

S.I.D. said...

It used to be dust and pebbles with me too.

Now its plates, cups and pointy things.