There is no creature on the planet as wretched and miserable as me today. It’s the first day of my period and the first day of a burgeoning cold that gets worse by the moment, and I’m covering the Reference desk–the most boring place on earth–for the next 8 hours. I’ve already been bitchy to a totally innocent and undeserving patron and am tempted to go and apologize. But I won’t. There is a smelly guy sitting just opposite me and I’m ready to throw him out. I just might.
I can only pray that a homicidal maniac comes to the library and shoots the smelly guy, then me.
But my misery is not what I’m writing about today. I may actually be too sick to deal with this issue properly, but I’m going to give it a shot anyway. I’m sure you’ll help me. While driving here this morning, I was listening to 2 male disc jockeys discussing how much women love it when men cook for them. “A woman will eat out of your hand if you cook a meal for her” said one deranged moron to the other. Okay ladies, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve never been so enraptured by frozen chicken nuggets (his specialty) that I’m willing to eat out of my husband’s hand. Maybe I’m just glad I didn’t have to make it for him. Maybe that’s just me.
And there’s more…the asshattery increases as they go on to deduce that women think that if a man can take the time to cook a meal, it means that he also takes his time in bed. And that’s what turns us on. AS IF! Only men would think that women would want to spend even more time doing something they don’t want to do in the first place! “Honey, I love the way you took the time to let the toaster oven preheat before you put the nuggets in…after I eat them out of your hand, I want you to love me looong time.” I don’t think so fellas. I’m sorry but longer duration is not what I’m going for at my house. It’s more like “Can you hurry it up? Ghost Whisperer is on in 10 minutes and I want to have time to pee first.”