Boys, while well-intentioned, often just don’t get it. Any of it. They are simpleminded creatures whose main motivation in life is titties. Don’t ever forget that, because as cliché as it sounds, it’s true. It doesn’t even matter how many times they’ve seen your tits–you can always get something out of a guy if you show them to him again. I don’t mean to use this as a how-to on the simplicity of manipulating men. It is merely an example to illustrate how truly basic their brains are. Like most things in life, this is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it’s easy to figure them out, as well as to get them to do things for you. On the other hand, however, they don’t understand how you operate, and they pretty much suck at advice-giving until they are properly housebroken, which can take up to three years. When you go to them in need, they try to do the right thing. Really, they do, but generally, they end up making things worse.
Scenario 1: You’ve had a horrible day, spawned mostly by PMS, traffic, and that asshole physics teacher who had the audacity to give you a final project and a final exam. You go home to your boyfriend, face-plant into his chest, and proceed to cry hysterically.
What Man Brain Tells Him: Tears – bad. Smiles – good.
His Response: After his arms flail in the air for approximately 7.5 seconds out of sheer confusion, he decides you are probably looking for a hug. He then pulls away because he’s incredibly uncomfortable, and he counts down the seconds until you stop. He looks at you, wipes your tears, and tells you not to cry. He insists you should cheer up, and starts telling jokes to stop this bodily emission that he doesn’t know how to process.
Why This Is Wrong: Because I don’t want to fucking cheer up. I want to cry. I’ve been holding in my tears for 30 minutes, I finally made it to a safe place, and you’re trying to stop me, too? WELL, FUCK YOU, MISTER. I will cry as long as I want to cry. I like crying. Why don’t you get that? Crying is like an orgasm, but for your emotions. I don’t try to stop you in the middle of your orgasm, do I? DO I? Then you continue to cry while he scratches his head and his balls in confusion.
Scenario 2: You storm into his house after an awful chapter meeting. That effing bitch Melissa spoke–out of turn, you might add–about your philanthropy event and how apparently penny wars are, like, not a thing anymore. Bitch. I hate her. Everyone loves penny wars, and honestly, if she actually had a problem with it, she should have talked directly to me about it rather than try to embarrass me in front of the chapter.
What Man Brain Tells Him: Conflict – bad. Resolution – good.
His Response: In an effort to help you reach resolution, he begins to explain Melissa’s side of things like some sort of traitor: “I’m sure she wasn’t trying to question your judgment. Maybe she just wanted to get the chapter’s opinion before telling you what to do. And honey, you should not feel embarrassed about still using penny wars. Your sisters love you, and it’s not too late to change your stance.”
Why This Is Wrong: I DON’T WANT TO HEAR HER SIDE OF THINGS. You are my boyfriend, which means you are to remain loyal to me and me alone, from now until the end of time. Anyone who opposes me is wrong. Always. You must solemnly swear never to ever mention the name “Melissa” to me again, unless it’s to tell me what a dumbass bitch she is. Got it? Good.
Scenario 3: You walk into the room in your brand new romper, looking like a fucking star. Outfit on point. Eyebrows on fleek. You’re ready to party. And so you’re just like, “Babe. How cute is my romper right now?”
What Man Brain Tells Him: Honesty – good.
His Response: Um, what is that? Like, a one-piece? Are those in style now? Why aren’t you wearing that dress I like?
Why this is wrong: Sweetie, I know you think that when I asked your opinion that you thought I meant I wanted to hear your opinion. What I really wanted was to hear my opinion in a deeper voice. And my opinion is that I look like a fucking Kardashian tonight. I pretty much told you exactly what to say. You could have responded in a single syllable: s’cute. And somehow, you managed to fuck it up. When I want you to be honest, I’ll let you know. Until then, don’t tell me what you think, tell me what I want to hear, please and thank you..