Women are the source of all men's problems.

Don't blame me, I didn't say it! So before you start sending me your hate mail, let me tell you a little story. Picture it, Sicily, 1947…

Wait, that's the wrong story.

Once upon a time, I was driving to dinner and a movie. My date had a tendency to talk too much, but I was pretty good about not listening (a skill I continue to hone). But then she said an absurd little statement that cut through my protective anti-listening barrier and hung in the air awkwardly, like fat boy Jared hiding behind a Subway sandwich.

"Women are the source of all men's problems," Megan repeated, looking out my car's passenger window. From her tone, she might have been talking about teacups, dog sweaters, or some other crap girls take seriously but guys just don't get.

"The only problems men have are with women."

My souffléed hopes suddenly fell. A statement like that could only mean I wasn't going to get any womanly attentions during this date. And in that moment, I couldn't possibly have agreed with her more.

The conversation was, predictably, my fault. She had asked me why I bought her a drink when I first met her. I should have been paying more attention to the conversation, because honesty slipped out by mistake.

"You're gorgeous. You can just walk up to a guy, cock your head to the side, and he'll buy you a drink, paint your house, father your children… Guys know that women are the sexual gatekeepers. We hope that buying you a drink is going to unlock that gate."

I guess I deserved what I got.

"No way!" she said, "A girl who can be bought with just a drink? Men have everything too easy already. They get the good jobs, they get better salaries, they don't get pregnant, old men are still sex symbols, they don't wake an hour and a half early just to fix their hair and put on makeup, they don't get cramps, they don't secretly hate their friends, they don't get stretch marks, they don't have to shave their legs, and men don't…"

I drove for several miles before she paused to take a breath.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked.

"That whole 'sitting down to pee' thing could have merited more attention."

"The point is, there's only one thing in the world that men don't have easy, and that's women. You don't understand us, we make your life miserable, and I love that. Why should I undermine everything women stand for by not making a man work to get my attention?"

For the first time in my life, I opened my mouth and no sound escaped. As much as I rallied against the argument, I could mount no counter attack. Every one of life's little irritations that hound men more than women — from "Does this dress make me look fat?" to "You call that foreplay?" — revolves around women. Women don't pay for dates; they let men cover the tab. Women don't remind us about an anniversary; they remind us that we forgot it. And dang it, in the name of John Madden and everything holy, women even try to ruin football by talking about "how cute" the players are!

It all goes back to women. Every last woe and sorrow. Everything… except for…

"Balding!"

The subject has never made me happier. "Men go bald much more often than women do!"

"There! See! You women have nothing to do with that! We spend money on horrible toupees, transplant hair from our rumps, and even spray fake hair on our heads because our gender-specific genetic makeup causes hair loss!"

Megan raised the corner of her mouth in a pitying smirk. "Sweetie, you'd wear your nasty, rag-looking underwear for a week if women didn't find it unattractive. Do you really think you'd care about your hair?"

Game, set…

"Besides," her smirk became a full-blown, mischievous smile, "male pattern baldness runs through the woman's side of the family."

Match.

Copyright © 2007 Andy Murphy
Please do not remove the copyright from this work.

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