The Real Reason Men Love Bitches…

Coffee with the girl chickens on a rainy Sunday is always entertaining. Topics this morning meander from Bane of Batman fame to a book popular with the younger set. Is his name just Bane or is he Mr. Bane? Can anyone actually understand him? If I had been in the stadium I wouldn’t have run because I couldn’t understand a damn word he said through that mask thing. Evolution is another topic as is politics, Abraham Lincoln, who is and is not a snudge-face and the importance of never dating a wimp-a-doodle.

Which brings us to a book in our home. Married for 27 years, I really feel no need to study up on what kind of girl I need to be, so I assume it was purchased sometime in the chicken’s high school years. It’s called, Why Men Love Bitches…From Doormat to Dreamgirl–A Woman’s Guide to Holding Her Own in a Relationship. This is published and my work is not–puzzler. It’s a national bestseller at that. To me, it seems yet another book of games for girls to play instead of honest interaction in a relationship. Admittedly this comes from a bitch who laid the rules down early and often in her marriage. And I also liked him, a lot. As my girls review the rules outlined in the book, some elicit peels of laughter and others a little discussion. For me–just bitchy commentary at yet another person attempting to teach my beautiful progeny that game playing is the way to best sustain a relationship. Being the mother of both girls and a boy there are some things I know.

Boys are more sensitive than girls. They are bigger babies. They throw hissy fits; theirs just look a little different. And they need more time outs, even when they are fully grown. They are not really a huge mystery. Chicks, on the other hand, say whatever needs to be said at the moment, outright lie, flatter and cajole, use sex and become someone they are not in a relationship. Guys rarely do these things, mostly ‘cuz they aren’t smart enough but also because their number one concern is comfort; whether it’s their shoes, their relationship or their shorts. Why do you think they’re always adjusting. Girls walk around all day with thongs shoved up their asses to avoid panty lines. He can’t take more than three steps without touching his junk if it’s the least bit out of place. Comfort.

When this book was published, first in 2000, again in 2002 and again in 2004, it was featured in Cosmo, Self, Glamour, on The View, O’Reilly and made into a live theatre production. Another bitch stole my life. The book was translated throughout the world in over twenty languages. Whaaa? Here’s my advice: don’t buy the book. We’re going to review right now–and I’ll give you the facts for free. How do I know I’m right? I’m old. Simple.

Besides, Miss Argov, the author, agreed to a photo of herself on the back cover featuring a bare shoulder and blond hair flung over her bosom and a sly smile. The back cover touts her as “saucy, no-nonsense and hilarious, bottom-line.” This bitch not only stole my life but my schtick as well.

One section of her book features things men find important, in their own words. Let’s review.

One guy says a woman should always keep the bathroom door closed when she’s on the toilet. “It’s disgusting,” he says. “And don’t leave feminine pads and stuff laying around.” Really girls? If you toss about tampons willy nilly and do your business chatting with a guy through an open bathroom door, you deserve whatever dolt you end up with. This is not rocket science. The truth is women don’t poop so this should never come up as subject matter anyway. Pfft. And besides, this guy is probably the same guy who comes out of the bathroom yelling, “Whoa somebody light a match.” Asshat.

Here’s another one: “The fear every guy has is that after marriage the girl is going to cut off her hair, gain a bunch of weight and stop putting out.” This opposed to men going bald, patting their paunch and saying, “bought and paid for” and preferring football to sex. Wait a minute–that’s any guy or girl worth her salt. I take that one back. You get my drift. Take a look around the world–women do not have a monopoly on fat, bad hair or indifference in their relationships.

And this one: “I don’t like a woman who doesn’t have a life, or a job. Or messed up credit. Or an old boyfriend who’s a nut case. I like a woman who is responsible.” Really? ‘Cuz all the single ladies I know are looking for an unemployed, credit bereft, irresponsible guy with a Fatal Attraction ex and a basement apartment at his mom’s. Dumbass.

The author devotes a full page to faking orgasm. Hmmm. Faking is for after you are fully committed and something is just a little bit “off.” It happens to all of us on occasion–male and female–and usually there is no need to worry. The whole reason for faking is to keep him from questioning his sensitive manhood and getting it over with since you’ve already figured out it’s not working tonight. Easier to arch your back and pull your hair than to argue about it later. But girlfriend, if you’re faking all the time–it might be time to shuffle off to Buffalo. Even Buffalo is better than a non-orgasmic relationship. We do need to learn about each others needs, wants, likes and preferences; but settling for a bedtime neanderthal is never acceptable.

There are times, when we are young and fumbly, that we figure our way through but once we get to a certain age–the age when we decide to play games to attract the opposite sex, the bottom line is: don’t end up the mad skills teacher. You don’t want to post some interesting artwork on the ceiling. Don’t marry someone who doesn’t send you to the moon and back. Sex with one person from now until you, or he, dies is a long time to think about tomorrow’s to do list. Commit only if he’s up to the task dolls.

Which brings me back to why the book bothered me a bit. Stop playing games. Stop trying to trick another human being into loving you or marrying you or buying your Prada bags. Don’t buy a Prada bag anyway. So overpriced for what you get. Everyone knows there is a simple reason men love bitches.

We’re more fun.