What Happens To Men When They Don’t Get Any

I feel sorry for my friends.  I bet it is a pain in the ass to maintain a relationship with me.

I go through “phases” – which is a nice way of saying that sometimes I’m downright lovable and sometimes I lean more towards psycho – and there’s no clear signs that a change is coming.  Really, I pity the fool who befriends me.  Or has to work with me.

Under normal non-psycho circumstances, I can take almost as much shit as I can dish out.  I consider teasing – both giving and receiving – to be a sign of affection.  No one knows my inherent flaws, and how to use them against me to make a good joke, as well as my close friends.

And then there is the hyper-sensitive psycho phase.  Once in a while my hormones flare, my skin gets thin and my sense of humor takes a beating.  Sometimes I decide that all that ribbing (that word always makes me thinks of condoms and turtlenecks) is not good natured lovin’ and that “if I’m so fucking bad then why the hell do you continue to hang out with me?” *insert foot stomping and pouting*

Yesterday was one of those days.  Work Husband and I had lunch with a former co-worker of mine and Work Husband’s brother and sister-in-law.  It was quite the incestuous lunch really (and you sick bastards who got here from Google looking that shit up? Seek. Help.)

Anyway, I got on some kick that Work Husband’s usual teasing had crossed the line and the drive home back to work consisted of me telling him I thought it was ridiculous that he felt like he had to act like he couldn’t stand me around other people and that I was not going to be speaking to him. *insert more foot stomping and pouting*

We got back to work and I was determined to continue with my pity party stand my ground.  And then I got this email:

Britt,Please consider the context? I’m not going out of my way to make people think I don’t like you. It’s funny.   Everybody at the table knows that I adore you!  There’s no acting, just playing. If I truly hurt your feelings, I’m sorry. No buts about it.

Is that not the world’s most perfect apology?  How the hell do you continue to throw a baseless fit after that? *sigh*

This has, however, thrown all of my theories about men and their genetic disposition against proper apologizing out the window.  It appears it has nothing to do with genetics.

I blame marriage.  And sex.  Something happens to men when they get married and/or having sex on a regular basis.  Something bad.

I’ll tell you what though, I for one am going to enjoy Work Husband’s current dry spell while it lasts.  Men make excellent friends when their not getting any.

Editorial Notes:

*The term Work Husband was blatantly stolen from Bonanza.  I’m sorry Jellybean, but it just fits and requires little or no additional explanation/immediate updating of The Cast page.  I like that. 

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *