Man, Are you a Blockhead?

January 10th, 2012 § 0 comments

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I have come to the conclusion that there are a significant percentage of men who suffer from a little-documented but widespread affliction called ‘rightitis’ which basically means that no matter how idiotic they are being, they still believe they are right.

On its own, rightitis is not a harmful condition. But when brought into contact with a headstrong female, there is a strong possibility of frustration at best and relationship breakdown at worst.

Abusive language, fists through doors, windows off hinges, broken plates and that kind of thing are not uncommon in these instances.

Sadly there is no known cure for rightitis. The male appears to be born with the clumsy chromosone and try as he might to educate himself, the mind-numbing affliction lays dormant until the day that he feels enough confidence in himself to inflict it on the world.

The symptoms are universal but vary in their extremity from quietly obstinate to downright belligerent.

It doesn’t matter the specific personal circumstances of the male sufferer. He can be a dot com billionaire or a street dwelling bum; both have the power to be utterly deluded, happy to take a podium and blather total shite if randomly provoked.

The saddest outcome of this affliction is that very few males like to suffer it alone. You see they can only truly feel whole when they are lording it over someone else, so it’s likely he has recruited a pack to assert his prowess in any given field.

It occurs to me that here’s how it rolls: amongst men there is a consensus, as long as the bullshit is steeped in jargon it’s true so there isn’t any need for annoying questions.

Men are pretty much unanimously agreed on the suggestion that if there are any annoying questions, they will come from a woman. They don’t like this as it can potentially cause a number of male elements to rise: chiefly blood pressure, anxiety, impatience and voice.

This applies to explanations about off-side rules, car breaks, plumbing, extreme sports, spiritual living, food, wine and about any other God damn topic that has managed to develop a language of jargon in order to validate the worthiness of the activity for the man in question.

When they are forced to explain something, the explanation is accompanied by lots of heavy sighing, face scratching, eye rolling and a look of incredulous disbelief.

Cooking, typically female terrain, provides the perfect example.

For centuries women boiled potatoes, hacked and grilled meat, peeled and stewed vegetables. Meals were hearty and nutritious and people who could afford to eat did so and lived long (ish) lives.

Keen to blunt the impact of Fanny Craddock and Delia, Keith Floyd came along and did everything in his power to create a blaze in the kitchen and on TV screens across the country.

A whole new food vocabulary evolved. Recipes became works of art. Tiny portions and elaborate sauces became the flavour of the day.

Suddenly housewives across the western world were no longer satisfied with their Sunday special of glazed ham and plum sauce. And the kids were demanding sauté vegetables and risotto.

All those years, Delia Smith put into creating simple TV dinners, vanished overnight.

Although she dominated TV kitchen land in the 70s and 80s, no one ever thought to stick her in a real kitchen and have her treat unwilling minions like pig swill until they mastered the fine art of cooking up a feast under inhumane pressure.

But then good old Delia bought a football team. She came on TV and swore like a sailor. Every one was dutifully surprised when it transpired she was more foul-mouthed than Gordon Ramsay.

She should get a new cooking show. I can see it now, Delia and Her Kitchen Devils or Delia’s Wooden Spoons.

But I digress.

Women do that. It’s our wayward brains. Makes it impossible to have a logical conversation with us.

I suppose it helps that men always know what they are talking about and are always right. Makes things so much easier for us gals to understand.

 

 

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