by Ginger Marin
So, listen, I heard this ridiculous remark the other day from a man … who thinks he’s some expert on women. He said women are vicious, that they use sex as a means to get back at men. Well, that may very well be the case in some respects but not this one. His basis for such a remark goes something like this: (says the man to his girlfriend) “You would deny yourself pleasure by not having sex with me just because you’re angry at me. How stupid.”
When I’m truly angry at a guy, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to make love to him. I’d much rather hit him with an ax and my guess is that’s how a lot of other women would feel too. The nerve of that guy. For him to think that women just turn off their emotions as if they were little dripping faucets really shows how little this so-called expert knows about women. I guess I should have explained it to the guy but I was too busy thinking that such an insensitive soul would never get it anyway. I let him blabber on until fortunately the subject changed again. It seems his ex-wife raked him over the coals during their divorce. No denial of pleasure there.
A nag is, by definition, a person who finds fault or complains in an irritating and persistent manner. And we all know what she looks like: always scowling, hair in curlers, wears a house dress and large beat up fuzzy slippers; one hand poised on hip; the other wields a rolling pin. Well, that surely isn’t me. Although, I’ve certainly been accused of being one.
It seems to me that if men would do what they say they’re going to do when they say they’re going to do it, there would be a lot fewer nags in the world. You know the kind of man I’m talking about. The one who promises every day for a month to fix something; the forgetful man who complains that you have to remind him to do those things and when you do, he promises to do it the next day which means you have to remind him again, until the next day rolls around and he procrastinates further until many weeks pass and whatever it was that needed doing still needs doing. I mean, if I could do it myself, I would. I really do resent having to remind my partner continually to perform his chores. After all, I’m doing mine every day. I am the one who feeds our seven children three meals a day. I grant you they’re just our pets but, hey, we’re talking three different varieties here and it’s a lot of work. Then there are the traditional female house chores that we never seem to get away from doing. I doubt we ever will, because, if we left them to the men, they too would never get done.
What goes on in their strange little minds anyway? That if he doesn’t do it, I will? Sometimes. That it’s all a fantasy and doesn’t really need to be done? I don’t think so. That some gremlin will spring from the walls and do the work for him? Haven’t met any of them yet. That the problem will simply go away if he closes his eyes to it long enough? Oh! that it were so. No, it’s something else but I haven’t figured out what it is yet. Perhaps they enjoy taunting and calling the one they allege to love a nag. Maybe it’s that male superior attitude that says “no one tells me what to do”. Yes, that’s it, isn’t it? We women are just not allowed to tell men what they need to do in their lives that they’ve chosen to share with another person. It’s not really a partnership. They sleep late while we clean the house; they meditate while we toil; they read while sitting on the toilet while we shop for the groceries.
It’s all clear to me now. That’s our lot in life. So while he chooses to sleep till noon, missing his eleven o’clock appointment that I reminded him about the night before, I’m out toiling. Then when I’m reproached for not waking him up, I can only respond one way: “You mean you want me to nag you?”