I can say that I am “guy-like” but not “I am such a guy.” My husband and I had a debate on this topic recently. Because I started out a blog by saying “I am such a guy.” To which my husband replied, “You can’t say that; you aren’t a guy. You can only be ‘guy like.’” But I do believe that I am a lot like a guy. For instance:
- Flowers and cards and anything sentimental irritate me.
- I hate having deep meaningful discussions; especially deep meaningful discussions about relationships.
- At work I manage like a guy (and the reason I know this is because I have had both male and female bosses and I like male bosses better – I could write a whole blog on this topic but won’t)
- I like mowing the lawn, vacuuming the pool and shoveling snow and
- I hate wearing pantyhose.
Well, okay – maybe the wearing pantyhose thing isn’t a very good example but it is true and I could obliterate the male who invented them. (And we all know it was a male, I don’t even have to google it. And it was probably the same guy who started the fad of women plucking their eyebrows).
During this discussion, my husband asked me: “Do you think shoes are cute?”
And I couldn’t lie. “Yes, I do think shoes are cute.” Some shoes, I was quick to clarify. But it was too late. Point. Score. Win.
“Guys,” my husband said, “would never say that shoes are cute. Ever.”
So fine; I am guy-like.
Which means that I do get annoyed at all the sentimental gestures and heartwarming cards and having to remember dates. Flowers, especially, irritate the hell out of me.
One year my husband was on a business trip during our anniversary. Now, while I may have said, “Oh darn! I am so sad that we won’t be able to be together for our anniversary!” I didn’t really feel that way and on top of that, I didn’t even feel guilty about how much I had been looking forward to his being gone for the week. Because I was so going to have complete individual access to the TV remote, keep the bedroom light on as late as I wanted so I could read, eat popcorn for dinner, and give the kids lots of money with the agreement that they would leave me alone for the entire week. And just to make sure of this, I took that Friday off work as a vacation day so I would REALLY enjoy myself starting with a three day weekend.
Except that Friday was our anniversary.
Friday morning I received a phone message from work that I needed to “stop by the office; nothing important but please stop by sometime today.” Now that pissed me off. Because if I were going to “stop by the office” I might just as well go in and work. So after I got the message, I pissingly dressed in work clothes (including pantyhose, thank you very much) and stomped into work. To find a beautiful arrangement of two dozen roses sitting on my desk that my husband had delivered to my office for our anniversary.
And boy was I pissed!
Now, here are the conversations that happened behind the scenes. All my female staff said, “Oh, they are so beautiful, she HAS to come in and see them! They can’t sit here until Monday and besides, what if her husband calls and she doesn’t know about them?”
My male staff said, “Just call and tell her they are here and she can decide what she wants to do.”
My female staff said, “No, she HAS to be surprised! You can’t just tell her!”
My male staff said, “Whatever.” And left.
So I got the message and was called in.
The guys were right, I would have been much happier with just a message and I so would have been able to gush and carry on about how “Bee-u-tah-full” my flowers were without my husband ever knowing I hadn’t even seen them. I’d bring them home on Monday and all would be well.
Several years later, my husband did the same thing to me at a different job. But this time I was at work. And I had to carry the damn flowers down 4 flights of stairs and out to the back 90 parking lot with everyone commenting as I walked by.
And the question I dreaded hearing the most was, “What is the occasion?”
“My anniversary,” I would mumble as a reply.
“How long have you been married?” was the inevitable next question.
To which my answer was, “Not completely sure but definitely between (insert 5 year time span here).”
For some reason, people thought that it was rather odd that I didn’t know how many years I was married. But does it really matter how many years after you reach year 10? And if I really wanted to know how many years I was married, I could always text my sister-in-law. And as an aside, why aren’t people surprised when guys give that response?
But after some 20+ years of marriage, my husband has finally gotten the message. No more flowers for me. However, I am still waiting on those new jumper cables for my mini-van. You know, a guy-like kind of gift.