ManFAQ Friday: But by how much?

It’s Friday, and that means answer time! For those of you who have commented with questions from previous ManFAQs, thank you. I’m adding yours to the list of questions women have asked about men over the years, and I will answer them all in turn – to continue to demystify the more malodorous gender for those of the gentler.  Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?


Question:   Why in the world would it be a problem if I were taller than you?

Answer:    I’ll wager that most guys don’t mind.  And by “most guys,” I mean the ones under 5 foot 3 inches who don’t want to narrow their windows of opportunity. 

It’s hard to feel all macho and stuff when we’re reaching up on our tiptoes to kiss you.  An inch or so, sure, no big deal.  If you’re the 50-foot-tall woman, or Madame Maxine, well, you know.   Also clearly, if we’re on television, it’s a huge issue. 

Like the man said, “You are smaller, so I can be taller than!”  Never mind the grammar, this is Hollywood!

 


Now you know. Please, feel free to comment! Also, forward any questions you’d like answered to BUMD – at – biguglymandoll.com!

 

This is not a review of The Phantom Tollbooth

Look, parenting has its challenges.  We know that.  We embrace it.  But still – some days, the life of a parent takes turns that are uneffingimaginable.

Some nights are even more bizzare.  Take tonight – please!

No, OK, but still.  I got them to bed.  SOBUMD and I were in bed.  She paused to use the restroom, I paused at my PC to turn this damn thing off – and a light came on, flickering, like a bad horror movie with no soundtrack, the only sound a soft footfall like you hear just before the words you know are coming, the scream, the – no, not a scream.  Just a quiet voice from behind the flashlight:  “Daddy, I’m still hungry.  Can I have a bologna sandwich?”

The following exchange is a verbatim transcript of my life.

Number One Son:   Can I have a bologna sandwich?  I ate all my dinner.
BUMD:  No you didn’t, you – oh, wait, that was yesterday.  Damn, you did eat all your dinner.  Stop pointing that light at me.  OK, let’s look downstairs.
Number One Son:   I did eat all my dinner.
BUMD:  Yes, an entire chicken drumstick.  But still, OK.  So, we have bread that I have to slice, which I’m really not up for, or we have the sourdough that you didn’t like, or I can get – oh, hey, we have cookies!  You can have a bologna wrap, or you can have a fresh-made chocolate chip cookie.  Your choice.
Number One Son:   Cookie.
BUMD:   Deal.

I walked around to turn off the Human Tape Recorder’s light, and by the time I was done with that he’d walked into his room, munching on a cookie.  I followed him in as he started climbing into his bed.

BUMD:   You are NOT getting in that bed eating a cookie.  In the chair, at the desk, now.
Number One Son:   Mmh.  OK.
BUMD:   While you’re there at the desk, you can finish the cookie and your reading log!  Here they are in front of you, and here’s a pen.  I know it’s not due until Friday, but you haven’t filled it out all week.  What did you read Monday?
Number One Son:    Fmmtm Tllboof [pointing to Norton Juster’s Phantom Tollbooth]
BUMD:   Ah, great book.  So, write it down there!
Number One Son:    OK.
BUMD:   OK, you need a “thoughtful thought” about the book.  Tell me something about the main character.
Number One Son:   Milo is a weird kid who doesn’t understand anything at first.
BUMD:   OK, I’ll take that.  Write that down.  Have you finished this book?
Number One Son:   [silence]
BUMD:   Hmm.  [flips through pages remembered only dimly, if fondly]  Do you remember how Rhyme and Reason returned?
Number One Son:   Yes.
BUMD:   Tell me.
Number One Son:   They rode on the back of a demon named Ri Ghastly, who told them they were no strangers to love.
BUMD:   What?  [flips through book faster]  I don’t remember that.  Tell me more?
Number One Son:   He said we’re no strangers to love.  You know the rules [singing] – And – So – Do – I …
BUMD:   What?  BOY?  Did you just Rickroll me?   Did you just sit there and Rickroll your own father?
Number One Son:   [giggling] It’s not a Rickroll if it’s not a video!
BUMD:   Get in your bed.  Get in your bed right now!!!
Number One Son:   [still giggling]
BUMD:  I cannot believe you would Rickroll your own father.
Number One Son:   [still giggling] I was just singing!
BUMD:  In the bed with you!

I don’t know what’s scarier – that he Rickrolled me, that he KNEW HOW to Rickroll me, or that he pulled it off so well.  I’m still laughing at Ri Ghastly, but still – “Huh?”  Damn, he got me again.

A Brief Weekend Recap While the Cleaning Crew Vacuums My Office

Since  I can’t get anything done for a while anyway, it’s a good time to update you on the events of the weekend.  Not that they were overly exciting, but still, they happened, and as we know my devotion to absolute veracity and disclosure is notorious.  Besides, I really need to post more, since this is now an award-winning blog.  My unending thanks for this honor go to Diane Henders, whose devotion to veracity is nearly as notorious as my own.  Plus she’s cool.  I know I’m failing to follow the rules set forth in the nomination, but I may get to them in another post.  Right now, we have a weekend to recap, and the vacuuming professionals are halfway done.

Pop Tarts

Pop Tarts Made While Listening to a Pop Tart

Saturday the Reigning Queen of Pink helped me to make Pop Tarts.  Since the rolling of dough and the spreading of fillings requires some modicum of inspiration, we listened to Katy Perry – nothing like Katy Perry for making Pop Tarts.  We also made cookies and crepes, since she’d requested the latter the night before (and rules by divine right), and who doesn’t like some cookies?

The best line I heard on Saturday was “Hey, wake up, September ended!”   I’d’ve posted it myself if I’d thought of it.  The next best line of the weekend was from Number One Son, who said “Daddy, I saw a fox on the deck this morning.”  Chances are, he saw a fox on the deck that morning.  We do have them in the neighborhood, and he described it well enough.  Wish he’d gotten a picture of that – he said it was standing on the rail of the deck, which must have been a sight. 

The main plan for the weekend, barring foxes, was recovering the dining room chairs, which is a good time, and getting the new clock up on the wall in the bathroom.  So you can imagine my surprise when, Saturday morning (after coffee and pop tarts), SOBUMD told me that our bedroom’s Feng Shui was all wrong, and I needed to move all the bookcases and shelves, remove and reinstall the light, and move the bed.  Well, you can just imagine what I said to that!

If you imagined the words “Yes, dear,” you may now award yourself 5 Internet Points and a cookie.  It actually takes longer to describe the work than it did to accomplish, but I’m still getting used to waking up on the other side of the room.  It’s like a room in my house has been rearranged… 

Having moved the bedroom, I promptly enlisted serious help in recovering the chairs, since the first thing required was to remove all the legs – which are bolted on.  Once again, the RQoP stepped up to the challenge, sitting down with an upside-down chair and my ratchet set.  By the time I had finished my beer, she was done – it’s good to be the king.  From that point, there was nothing left to do but pull the old fabric off one of them, use it as a template for the new fabric, and start cutting.  Bending over the table with the shears for that long (there are five chairs) gave me a new regard for handling textiles – now I know why Nike and Gap pay those overseas factory workers so much money! 

I only finished one chair, but it looked so good that another beer was called for.  What with one thing and another, the weekend moved on to Mark Twain and what he would have thought of Dr. Who.  I suspect he would have liked the show.  In fact, I’m a little surprised the Dr. hasn’t shown up in Hannibal, MO, yet, come to think of it. 

Biker Bear

Does This Looks Like Pedo Bear to You?

But the weekend ended, as all weekends must, and Monday dawned early enough to bake the rest of the cookies to have with our coffee and pop tarts. 

As the Squirrel Nut Zippers drove me to work this morning, I saw a guy with a Teddy Bear helmet ride by on a motorcycle – cute little floppy ears standing up in the wind.  Nothing like a Monday morning to make you say, “Huh?”

Without further ado, happy October to one and all!  Oh, hey, the vacuuming is done!

ManFAQ Friday: Of Men and Pigs

It’s Friday, and that means answer time! For those of you who have commented with questions from previous ManFAQs, thank you. I’m adding yours to the list of questions women have asked about men over the years, and I will answer them all in turn – to continue to demystify the more malodorous gender for those of the gentler.  Actual questions, posed by real women, and answered by a REAL man. What could go wrong?


Question:   What is it with you guys and bacon?

Answer:    I’ll confess I was going to write something with great righteous indignation, along the lines of “Oh yeah? Well, what is it with you ladies and purses?”  Then I remembered…  the bacon weave.   

I may have to go with righteous indigestion on this one. 

We know from holy scripture that “There are no two finer words in the English language than ‘Encased Meats,’ my friend.” (Hot Doug, Letters to the Chicagoans, $3.16.)   And we know, because I’ve told you before, that pig is yummy – it’s a good reason to go to Alabama, for instance.  So, yes, I have been known to stock up on bacon.  And by stock up, I mean walking into a butcher shop and walking out with 40 pounds of it. 

It’s not just meat!  It’s thick, juicy meat, with nice smoky flavor, and it will take whatever you do to it – brown sugar, cayenne pepper, you name it.  Bacon is life.  So, men are pigs, men eat pigs, men love pigs – it all makes sense.   You know, somewhere. 

 


Now you know. Please, feel free to comment! Also, forward any questions you’d like answered to BUMD – at – biguglymandoll.com!

Conversations I Never Had With My Parents

A note for the squeamish before we get started:  Let’s just say this one deals with “growing up.” If you’re not into that, may I recommend the one about the car, which is also about growing up but not as, ah, sticky.  Mind you, I know my dedicated readers tend not to be easily offended – those who are tend not to stay long enough to become dedicated readers. 

There are plenty of conversations I would never have considered having with my own parents – not through any failing on their part, but simply because I had, when I was younger, filters that limited the number of things about which I felt comfortable talking.  (The possibility that these filters have all burned away is left for this audience to debate amongst themselves.)  The world has moved on, of course, and there are whole topics that either didn’t exist or simply couldn’t be discussed at the time that are now commonplace, but there are still areas where young children in the process of becoming young adults simply don’t always feel comfortable holding public discourse.  Filters.

One of the great glories of living with Number One Son is that he has no such filters, and tends not to understand that other people do.  We try to educate him, sometimes by rote, in things that most people absorb through social interactions as a matter of course, and he’s gotten good enough at it that he’s fine in most social situations.  At home, of course, his guard is down – first because this is his safe place, as it should be, and second because his meds have usually worn off.  Still, there are times when the absence of those filters makes for some interesting discussion around the house.

Number One Son joined me in the kitchen the other morning.

BUMD:  Good morning, Big Man!
#1 SON:  Good morning, Father!  Well, I guess I’ve had my first ejaculation this morning.

Look, you try being an intelligent, responsible parent with coffee running down your chin and a stunned, thousand-yard stare look on your face.  These are the times, as a parent, when you get no warning of danger ahead until the river drops and you’re going over this waterfall Right Now, and your answer in the next 2 seconds has the potential to define a part of your child’s life, when you wish you could hit the big Pause button in the sky and think for a minute.  It took me a second to rise to the occasion – I mean, what exactly do you say to that?  How’dja like it?

BUMD:  Really. 
#1 SON:  Yes.
BUMD:   Um.  Well, OK.  Uh.  How’d it feel?
#1 SON:  Oh, it felt fine.

He could just as easily have been talking about the weather. 

BUMD:  Might I ask where this took place?
#1 SON:  I was in the bathroom.
BUMD:  And you, um, what were you doing? You know, exactly?
#1 SON:  Well I was going to go pee and I noticed it on the end of my dick.

It was a good thing I had already set what was left of my coffee down as a lost cause at that point.  The best I can figure is that he had a “nocturnal emission” as we used to say, and noticed the outcome (sorry!) on waking.  We had a brief chat about not bring this topic up at school, and off he went. 

Number One Son, still making me say, “Huh?” after all these years.