Thursday 11 October 2012

All men ARE pigs.

(The daily challenge? Write something unsaid, taboo, or controversial. I wasn't brave enough to be brutally raw. I had to hide behind light hearted sarcasm. There is still truth here, but sometimes humour is the sugar that helps the medicine go down)

"All men are pigs!" she spit out stomping her jewel encrusted stilettos on the café's patio tile. 
Her hairy chested man guiltily swung his gaze from the nymph that was flouncing down the street.

I had been studying the shape of his wife's shapely calf wondering to myself
If the line in the fishnet went all the way up, and then if she really was a blond.

"How could you look at her if you're with me? You must not really love me, you swine!",
Said my wife as she dumped ice water into my lap. She had seen where I had been looking.

"All men are pigs!" our goddesses thundered in unison as other daggered glares cut off our manhood.
They marched out together to powder something and engage in an Olympic bout of man bashing.

The other Neanderthal and I looked at each other, grinned,  and shrugged.
We grunted a couple of times, put our heads down, and continued to eat our rare steak.

That night as I lay against a cold shoulder and even colder feet, I began to think:

Why are we such pigs, and what did pigs do to deserve the insulting comparison?
I suppose it is their speciesist stereotype as mindless insatiable gluttons.
They are never satisfied with just one bite from their own dish.
The slop is always sweeter from another pig's trough.

In all my sister's stolen Harlequi...I mean text books about sex, I thought 'insatiable' was a good thing.
As insatiable as the constant, need for one more pair of shoes, because what if I see a better pair?
Or drooling over the glossy airbrushed centerfold in 'Better Homes and Gardens: Celebrity Edition'
Thinking 'I wish I could find someone with the tools to trim my hedges with such flair and prowess.'

Alright, here it is, the secret that will probably get me drummed out of the loyal order of brotherhood.
Yes! All men are pigs.

If you are 9 or 99 years male you cannot not look when, for example, the wind blows up 
The skirt of some pretty young lady, even if it's only on Youboobtube on that intraweb thingy. 

Some will say it's simply evolutionary, dear Watson, a biological imperative for the survival of the species.
Some will say it's an act of intelligent creation our mind hardwired for the act of procreation.
The question is not, "how could he?", but, "How could he not?"

The dilemma is in the flawed presumption, 'If he ever looks, it means he must not love me, or ever did.'

Sighing as a Lamborghini races by on the highway, does not mean we are looking for our pink slip.
We're not looking for a junkyard to dump what we drive while planing a high maintenance  trade up.

So when (not if) he 'checks out the traffic', the real question you should be asking yourself is two fold.

First, how long does she hold his attention?
Is it often, and for more than a minute or two each glance and he's licking his chops and miming sex?
You need to grab him by the short and curly...tail that is--he's a pig!
It's high time to grease that sucker and let him go or have a Luau or make some bacon jam.

Next, ask yourself, does he quickly catch himself, look guilty and acknowledge me somehow?
If the answer is 'yes' then, sister, he's yours, he cares, and he loves you.
The guilt is a good thing. It means he's thinking with his heart and not that other part.
The glance back, the smile, the chuckle, the arm stroke, the gentle hip bump.
This is just our Kindergarten school boy awkward way of saying,
"I just see her body, but I see your heart. If I even had a chance and it was offered, 
I would still choose you. Everytime. Forever."

Is he still a pig? Of course he is. We all are. 
Except that he is a cute, cuddly pig capable of understanding love, like Babe or Wilbur.
       



  

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