Super Man

Have you ever taken the time to REALLY contemplate men?  No, I'm not talking about anatomy or anything like that.  I'm talking about thoughts on men in general: what they value, what they think about and how in the blue blazes do they think that way?  Are all of those grunts from different planets?  Why does a man break out into hives when he is forced to answer the sentence, "I feel ______", especially when told 'horny' is not an acceptable response?  Have you ever noticed?  Immediately after a baby boy gushes out the words Mama and Dada, it's only a matter of time before BAM! and POW! overtake his vocabulary.  Along those same lines, why, when men get together and form a bevy of manhood, WHY do they like to blow things up?  Observe:

These are grown men.  I didn't hear any high heels clicking their way across the concrete, did you?  Why would anyone even LOOK at a pumpkin and say to the guy next to him, "Gee, Gomer, let's blow this thing up?"  Where does that idea COME from?!?  Thinking about blowing up a car engine?  I just watched the video; it's already been done. I know that if I ever DID blow up a pumpkin, my husband would think that I was the coolest wife ever on this planet Earth. 

I get dizzy when I blow up a beach ball.  


They have shows on the Discovery Channel that are solely about making things implode and explode, all in the name of science.  I've caught my husband mesmerized by the television screen, watching some five hundred pound squash that looks like Buddha with giant warts being catapulted across some poor farmer's field. One would think that he is above all of this nonsense, being a specimen with abundant intelligence.  But he is Man, and proudly waves his membership card high in the air, HUZZAH!  Wait...... that's TWO syllables.

Our absolute favorite television series of all-time is "Northern Exposure."  That show ran for seven, count 'em, SEVEN seasons.  We own all of the DVDs and regularly watch them throughout the winter months to help us get through the blahs and the doldrums.  They are incredibly funny, and often thought-provoking, artistic, and sensitive.  From the entire series, would you like to glean the two to three minutes that define Hubby's absolute favorite "Northern Exposure" moment?  

You would think that by now, men would have figured out that women are NOT attracted by things that blow up or explode.  Do you know what attracts me?  Pink.  I like a man who is secure enough with himself and his ego to put on a pink shirt and wear it as if it has WWE emblazoned across the front of it.

Birds have it all figured out.  Women not only like pink, we like to dance.  Women like men who dance, and birds know it:

My husband has danced twice with me in my entire life.  Both time were at weddings and both times it was to the same Elvis song.  I'm not fond of Elvis, but at least it was to "Can't Help Falling In Love" rather than  "Hound Dog."  Don't get me wrong: I am ever so grateful for those two dances, and I treasure their memories.  If I am supremely lucky, maybe there will be more dances yet to come.  But please, dear Lord, make it to someone else other than Elvis.  And Lord, by the way, if you're still dialed in, not to Weird Al Yankovic, either. That would probably appeal to my husband.

The other day, I thought that my husband was working on stuff for the IRS, but I couldn't find him.  He wasn't in the living room in front of the mounds of paperwork, and I figured that he was finished with his task. I found him out in the sunroom.

             "Are you done doing the taxes?"
            "Nope, been watchin' the birds.  Turkey vultures come and go, but taxes are forever."

And so we too shall be forever.  He's been watching things go boom and he's been watching the birds.  It seems as if he's learned a thing or two along the way and so have I.  Maybe it's not in the blowing up or in the strut; maybe it's the flight that everything takes in this life that is the ultimate attraction.  My husband might not wear pink or like to dance, but he speaks my language, even if it is primarily monosyllables.  When he smiles at me, my heart flies higher than any ol' piano, and when he says my name, my heart literally explodes. He is my Superman.