I can’t stand it when men cry. I’ve seen my husband cry twice–first was when our daughter was born, he teared up (when our son was born, I did the tearing–hello, episiotomy!) and when his best friend was diagnosed with bile duct cancer. Those tears I understood, and not just because I love him. But watching the Bachelor weep hysterically in deciding between two whores made me mildly nauseated. And it made me want to sign him up for the Marines or something. Oh and don’t be all “your poor son, you won’t let him express his emotions.” Please. My son has built a Wailing Wall in his room so that he can mourn all the Wii injustices properly. It’s grown men I’m talking about. Grown men who are a little too in touch with their feminine sides.
Also, I can’t stand it when men eat sweets. I think I inherited that from my mother who is fat-phobic and once referred to a man, with derision, as “a sweet eater”. I assumed that it was some kind of code, but she told me that she’d seen him at a party eating cake. “Disgusting,” she said. I fully admit that this doesn’t make sense, and yet it irritates me to see a man eating dessert. I assume that it’s either because I feel very competetive about the volume of desserts out there and want to make sure that I have enough, but I am not ruling out the possibility that I may be insane, too.
Oh, and I took over Vodka Mom’s blog today. And to express my graditude for letting me guest post, I misspelled her name. I think that her poor readers are going to go on a hunger strike until she comes back or something. Which will leave many snacks for me, so win-win!