ManFAQ Friday: Stroke of Genius

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 some guys insist on using the word “stroke” in places I wouldn’t expect?

Answer:    I really want to ask you about places where you don’t expect to be stroked, but you might figure out where I live, get through my security systems, and disarm my attack cats.  So instead I’ll tell you this:  Guys like the word stroke because it sounds nice and masculine, all those Ks and Rs and Ss, like Strong.  “What did he die of?” “He had a stroke.”  It sounds more manly than some wussie heart attack, anyone can die of those. 

And then there’s the verb, which is (A) fun to say, (B) fun to do, and (C) more likely what you’re talking about.  We don’t like having strokes nearly as much as we like stroking – and being stroked.  Why do you think there are more teen pregancies on crew teams than cheerleading squads?  “Stroke!”  “Why, yes please!”   “Stroke!”  “Oh, cockswain?”  Once we’ve gotten you thinking about stroking something – of yours, or of ours, and really, any part of our anatomy is pretty much fair game, we’re not picky about where you start stroking – we’re pretty much on the zipline to the Hey Hey.  And as we know, it’s all about the Hey Hey.  

Of course we have to be careful – if that actually worked, more of us would probably be having strokes! 

 


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

The things you hear…

SOBUMD: Is it considered bad parenting if I tell the youngest child to stop giving me the “bitchface”?

HTR (11-yr-old): No, it’s called life skills.

(headdesk) I’m thinking of just retiring and letting her run the rest of the family.

The Toys are Back

Putting the younger two to bed last night, there was a discussion of toys lost and then found. The RQoP began singing “The Toys are Back” to the tune of High School Musical 3’s “The Boys are Back”.

Number One Son looked at her and said “Yeah, that’s just like…” and then proceed to sing the same song back to her.

“Big Man,” I said, “that’s just exactly what she said.”

He smiled beatifically, shook his head, and said “yes, but she was out of tune.”

Oh, snap!

I’ve stopped singing around him. It’s for the best, really.

Interesting lights…

The neighbors are either having one FREAKY séance over there, or they’re trying to get the new baby back to sleep. 

Same thing, really…

One of these days, I’ll get the last word…

 But it will not be this day…

HTR: May I have some root beer?

SOBUMD:  No.  (pause)

SOBUMD:  OK.  (to me)  You know, you just need to disappoint her first, then she appreciates things so much more.

HTR:  Thank you SO much!

BUMD:  You’re fired!

HTR, walking away with her root beer:  OK,but you still owe me my last paycheck.

 
Damnit.  Well played, little girl, well played.