Big Ugly Man Doll

Happy New Year from the ManFAQ! 

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:   Is honesty the best policy in a relationship?

Answer:   The degree to which honesty the best policy in a relationship is inversely proportional to the length of the relationship.  If you just met him, you should be totally honest with him, and he should be totally honest and open with you.  You can’t base a relationship on lies, half-truths, and slippery evasions.  As my good friend Maureen the Poet told me a hundred years ago, “Men are scum.  Tell you they love you – THEN they come.”  So for beginning a relationship, aim for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. 

But, once you have a relationship, the game changes.  Is honesty the best policy all the time?  Honestly, no, of course not.  For example, you will sometimes ask his opinion on things that won’t really be in his best interest to answer, and that you don’t really want to know about – and he’ll ask you the same things. 

Trust me that you really don’t want to know if he thinks the new office manager is cute, or his opinion of that new dress.  When he asks what you’re thinking about, it’s nice of you to lie and tell him you were thinking about how amazing he was the other night.  We know you’re really thinking about the bills, or how to get around a coding problem for the app you’re writing, or whether or not you’re going to have to shank that bitch across the hall if she tries to take credit for your ideas one more time – but you know he’d rather hear that you’re thinking of him.  When he tells you he was thinking about the paint color you suggested, assume the same. 

In fact, if you ask him what he’s thinking and the answer is anything other than food or sex, he’s probably making it up.  “I was just thinking about asking your folks to visit,” is probably a cover for the fact that he was thinking about a threesome with you and the new office manager. 

This lack of complete honesty is often the social lubricant that lets us live together in close quarters without generating too much friction.   Besides, when you ask him what he’s thinking about, the real answer is probably “Huh?”  We don’t do as much thinking as you would think. 

Now you know.  Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

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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 do men hate shopping?

Answer:   It’s not that we hate shopping.  We just hate going to multiple stores and trying on multiple things and bargain hunting – we want to get in, acquire the target, and get out.  It goes back to our roots as hunters – find it, kill it, drag it home and, usually, wait for you to cook it.  Ug no gather.  Ug hunt.  There’s no blood-lust in trying on six dresses, and we probably can’t tell the difference anyway. 

Also, it may depend on where you’re shopping.  Most guys don’t mind so much if you’re dragging them to Nordstrom’s – the people running that store understand how this works, and they’ve set up “guy stations” in several places through the store.  It’s like dropping off your kids at the play area in Ikea, except you don’t have to check us in and out.  Big comfy chairs, sofas, and the like where we can sit and watch all the people – most of whom look like you, which is nice – or fall asleep, which is actually more likely. 

Now you know.  Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

Tags: Children // Add Comment »

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 do I always seem to be the one wrapping the presents at the holidays, often the night before?  Why can’t he help?

Answer:   Let’s start with giving the guy a pair of scissors.  We’ve reached the holidays, and he started drinking around noon, didn’t he?  Scissors are probably not a good idea right now.

Even if he’s sober, do you remember the last gift he “wrapped” for you?  You thought it was from the kids at first, didn’t you?  Anything that requires more folding than “insert tab A in slot B” is a bit beyond most guys.  A cube, maybe.  If you want that oddly-shaped, squishy-on-one-side plush toy boxed in a parallelogram wrapped like it was done by Santa’s elf, let’s face it, the guy who’s still iffy on getting his tie tied straight probably can’t help you there.

Of course, he might not be able to help wrap because he’s downstairs screwing together the bicycle…  But he’s probably asleep.

Now you know.  Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

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I dreamed I took my daughter to Christmastown for her present.  We drove past the famous block outside Baltimore that does all the over-the-top decorations.  It was closed – there was a huge gate across the entrance with a sign saying “Do not open until Christmas!”  I had thought people lived there all year.

We were early.

As we approached Christmastown, the car slowed as we neared the White Gate.  There was a Santa statue next to it, beckoning us in.  Up close, by the headlights, I could see the paint on the gate starting to peel.  We went over something like a speed bump just in front of the gate, and as the weight of the car hit it, the gate opened.  As we crossed through the White Gate of Christmastown, our car became a gondola, and we left the ground.

We were conveyed in our gondola toward the only visible structure in the enclosure, the Green Gate of Christmastown.  I glanced at my daughter, whose face was a study in anticipation mixed with doubt.  She held her silence.

The gondola ran smoothly despite the fine cold mist, damp but not yet cold enough to freeze, to snow. 

We were early.

Reaching the Green Gate of Christmastown, we saw it was actually the doors to what looked like a small green shed.  The doors opened inward as the gondola pushed them and we saw Santa, all in white, with red silk scarf and white fur robe.  He reached down and picked up a small green bag, the top of a present just peeking out, and in one fluid motion placed it in our gondola as we rode by.  I realized as we passed that he, too, was activated by the presence of the gondola car.  My daughter placed her present at her feet and huddled against the cold.  The car reached the back of the shed and exited by a final door, back into the cold night. 

As we looked back, she waved a goodbye to the animatronic Santa, who had followed us out.  He raised one hand in a farewell. The look on his face was a testament to his manufacturing, a look that spoke of the ages he’d been there, the millions of times he’d performed his flawless function, the countless presents, the children.  Any machine built to last that long develops a sense of identity, an empathy for those it serves, and those it serves with.   As our gondola passed from his sight, I glanced again at the silent girl beside me.  Huddling against the wet and cold, she shivered and smiled, despite the damp, despite her doubt, delighted that after all this time there was still a present for her.  It came to me why I’d seen that look on the Santa’s face, the combination of determination and recognition, looking not at her but at me, and knowing like-to-like.  I understood now why we had called him Father Christmas, the Pater figure bringing home presents to his children, to all of us. 

I never did find out what was in the green bag at my daughter’s feet.  After all, it wasn’t for me.

My present was her smile.

Tags: Children // 2 Comments »

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:  Can men really die from a lack of sex?

Answer:  Um, well.  Yes.  Yes they can, and there’s two ways it can happen.  For some guys, it’s a question of release – that poison testosterone just keeps building up and building up, and pretty soon they’re doing dumber and dumber things to get your attention (Hey hon, watch this!), and eventually they do something dumb enough that the testosterone comes out along with most of the blood, and they’re gone. 

The other kind of guy will just sort of move along as he usually does, but you’ll notice that he sags a little, like a party balloon the week after, not on the floor yet but not on the ceiling like he was when you brought him home.  He’s wilting, losing his vitality and his air.  For him, it’s not too late.

We’re inflatable, you see!

Hey, you asked.  Now you know.  Please, feel free to comment with any questions you’d like answered!

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