I’ve been in love with the single most complicated, frustrating, maddening man I have ever known. He also happens to be the warmest, most generous, kindest and unforgettable, irresistible and magnetic man I have ever known. He makes me screaming mad and he makes me absolutely dizzy with want. His name is John and that man has me right where he wants me, and he doesn’t even try. Now, before the feminists of the world fill their slingshots with You’re a Sexist Bombs and fire them at me, let me remind you that ALL of us have had a John … and that’s probably what has made some of them into man-hating, cat collecting, miserable, man-less women. I know … I was almost one, myself. But I was saved by two things: 1. I am entirely too old fashioned to be a feminist, and 2. my rental lease does not allow cats.

During one very rare argument, I emphatically presented my point to John; arms waving, eyebrows up, jabbing myself in the chest with my pointed finger, grasping my head with both of my hands, quoting song lyrics, a few stamps of my foot for emphasis, and ending with me saying, “…don’t you see? Right?….Right?”

Silence.

Finally, he spoke…and this is what he said: “…did I record Gold Rush?” I blinked a few times, baffled. “John…” He turned his head slightly toward me as he reached for the remote. “Yes…” “John, didn’t you hear anything I said?” I asked. “Yeah,” he responded. “…well…what do you…what do you THINK?” “I think you need to relax,” he said, as he settled back on the couch and reached for my hand. (!!) I said, “You did not! You weren’t listening! You didn’t hear anything I said!” “I heard EVERYthing you said,” and he very succinctly rattled out everything I had said. Almost verbatim. “Well then why didn’t you say something about it?” I asked. “What do you want me to say?” “Tell me you hear what I’m saying!” I pleaded. “I hear what you’re saying.” He responded. I sighed heavily and covered my face with my hands. “John, don’t placate me.” “Shannon…This is the same argument. You are saying the same thing. I heard you the first million times you said it and I heard you just now.” “But John, this is important.” “It’s not,” he countered. “It’s background noise. We’re fine. You and I are fine. Here I am. There you are. We’re together. Ok? The rest is background noise.” “No.” “Yes,” “John, listen …” “Sshhh.” “John, I really think…” “Shannon …” “John.” “Shannon.”

And with that, I receded, conceded and remained seated. It was over. But you say, “What?! He shut you down! He shut you up! He is controlling!” Actually, he just poured water on my smoldering fuse and saved us a big unnecessary blow up. Not for MY sake, but for his. (Can’t blame him, actually.) But why? Because women need to be heard and men don’t want to hear it. And they strut around with their feathers plumed, and they do whatever the Hell they want to do. From the cradle to the grave. “Those jerks! Insensitive pricks! This is why I hate men! Every single man I’ve ever known has DONE this to me! They all cheat! They all lie! They all think they’re the kings of the universe! They ALWAYS look at other women! They’re such babies!! They operate with such a DOUBLE STANDARD! I can’t stand it!! THEY’RE ALL THE SAME!”

Yes, they are.

Open up wide, here comes the red pill. And get a puke pail, because you ain’ gonna like this. Unless you are content with a life void of men and their company, we have to accept this … because to have a man, or to live with the one you already have, this is the truth we must swallow. And no amount of sugar will help this medicine go down. No feminist movement on earth will re-wire a man, nor will it re-wire a woman. We are who are, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is all there is to it.

To be continued…