Stupid Questions Women Shouldn’t Ask Men.
(but they will, anyway).
“Sometimes women don’t understand the First Amendment.” Roger Ebert
Okay, so let’s start with the First Amendment which guarantees freedom of religion, expression and assembly. It doesn’t say anything about women asking stupid questions. The Founding Fathers didn’t consider this, obviously, and now we’re stuck with women asking anything they like—which usually involves stupid questions.
Women ask these stupid questions because they absolutely can’t not ask them. They’re genetically predisposed. If the Founding Fathers knew anything about women, they would have added a codicil to the First Amendment, something to the effect of “Women should not ask stupid things that put men in the dog house.”
Of course we don’t want to, but if we don’t we sound guilty, and if we do, we prove we’re guilty.
Well, that’s The Founding Fathers for you, and we’ve had to live with these questions ever since, usually prefaced with, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Of course we don’t want to, but if we don’t we sound guilty, and if we do, we prove we’re guilty.
Whoever figured this is a way to “open your man up” doesn’t understand men, or what opens them up, or how to ruin a good night’s football.
That’s not your problem, though, is it? You’re far more interested in knowing what makes us tick, which you shouldn’t because we don’t tick as much as go barreling along, occasionally enacting amendments that sound good at the time, but eventually put us in the dog house.
This particular rant (and I admit it’s a rant) all started over an article in LovePanky called “Questions you should never ask a man.” The writer attended a meeting where several counsellors and relationship experts gathered to discuss, well, relationships.
One counselor presented a chart she’d prepared called “Fun questions to ask your man.” The LovePanky writer was appalled by the naivety. I was appalled period. I was so appalled, I had to go through each question, wondering where “fun” entered into any of this.
Pointing to her good grooming and funny little laugh will only result in her saying, “And?”
The first question was “What do you like about me?” Men might as well start making up the couch now. There’s simply no way out of this. Pointing to her good grooming and funny little laugh will only result in her saying, “And?”
Adding charm or willingness to clean out the cat’s litter box isn’t what she wants to hear. She knows that stuff. She wants an insight, something she can’t get from her girlfriends or her astrologer. Men simply don’t have that insight. In the whole history of mankind, nobody’s beaten an astrologer or a girlfriend at insights (or lack of them).
We’re sunk, in other words, but that’s nothing compared to the next question. “If I met with an accident and was disfigured, would you still go out with me?” Our immediate reaction is to say “yes” and a woman’s immediate reaction is to smack us upside the head. “I’m disfigured, you idiot! Oh, sure, you’ll act all loyal and stuff, but you’ll be sneaking around. You’ll be after one of my girlfriends ’cause she’s still pretty.”
Now she asks “What would you do if I cheated on you?” a loaded question since we’re already cheating in her mind.
Saying “I don’t even like your girlfriends,” gets us another smack, but then she’ll ask, “Would you give me your whole salary every month after we get married?” Well, we’re already guilty of looking at her friends, so hell, we say “Of course, honey.” This is the worst thing we can do. It implies we’re already sleeping with one of her girlfriends.
Now she asks “What would you do if I cheated on you?” a loaded question since we’re already cheating in her mind. If we say, “I’d accept that I haven’t been giving you everything you need,” we’re a dweeb. If we say, “I can’t tolerate cheating,” she’ll call us hypocritical bastards.
This, of course, leads to ex girlfriends, whom women think are hovering around us like Cape Vultures. “If your ex girlfriend wants you back, would you leave me for her?” she asks, eyelashes fluttering.
“She doesn’t hold a candle to you,” we say, which is a lie because one of her girlfriends knows our ex and drunkenly said one night she’s pretty hot. She also said (drunkenly) that she’d do her. If she’d do her, and we’ve done her, we’re guilty of not only lying, but hoping for a threesome that doesn’t include our girlfriend.
For one thing, we wouldn’t know it’s a surprise party until we got there, right? So how could we…fuck, smacked again.
Another smack followed by “Would you leave a surprise party thrown by your friends to have a candlelight dinner with me the same night?” This is a trick question. For one thing, we wouldn’t know it’s a surprise party until we got there, so how could we…fuck, smacked again.
Now she wants a true test of love, a sure sign she has us on the ropes. “What extreme thing would you do to prove you love me the most in this world?” she’ll ask, doodling something that looks like an eye with a nail through it.
“I’d climb the highest mountain,” we say, a little corny, but at least she can’t accuse us of threesomes at an elevation not fit for a Snow Leopard.
“What mountain?” she asks, and we say Kilimanjaro, and that’s a sure sign we’re bullshitting since it’s not the highest mountain, and we don’t even know where Kilimanjaro is, and even if we did, we can barely handle those tall escalators.
She has a question about God which isn’t so bad, since nothing God does is completely understood, anyway.
So far we’re scoring in the low single digits, but she’s still willing to give us a final chance. She has a question about God which isn’t so bad, since nothing God does is completely understood—especially by men.
“If God gave you three boons, what would they be and why?” she asks. Well, eternal love with you, of course, and gorgeous kids, and a cottage by the sea. Why? Because that’s what Hollywood couples do, and they’re happy as chimps (for a year, anyway, which is all men are gunning for in these scenarios).
Well, that caps it. First of all, she hates the sea, we’ve never brought up kids before, and as far as “eternal” goes, we ain’t the healthiest guys on the planet. “You’re going to leave me with three screaming brats and stretch marks,” she screams, “not to mention my tits will look like wind socks!”
There’s no answer, no consolation that can possibly save us. All we can do is say we’re sorry, and hope she storms out and visits one of her girlfriends. There she’ll learn that all men fail these questions, and none of us think they’re “fun.”
What we do consider “fun” is football, only because nobody asks us anything, except to get more beer out of the fridge or confirm the linesman is a dope.
It’s like God. We don’t understand some calls any more than we understand God’s wisdom.
These are things we understand, or at least we make out like we understand them. Actually, the linesman could go either way. It’s like God. We don’t understand some calls any more than we understand God’s wisdom.
The other reason we prefer football is nobody cares what we say during a game. We can mutter “idiot” a thousand times, and every head in the room will nod. This is because football is truly an idiot’s game, and we truly enjoy being in the company of idiots.
Besides, we weren’t even sure what “boon” meant, but women always mean “wishes,” particularly when it comes to love and stuff. Obviously we’re not good at any of that, primarily because we’re watching football, and how can we concentrate on anything that doesn’t conclude with a ten-yard rush?
There’s simply no way, and that’s why we call these “stupid questions.” Linesmen make stupid calls, so we know stupid, and if we can’t give definitive answers to your questions, don’t blame us. They’re stupid.
Stupid questions are going to have us sleeping on the couch or apologizing to your girlfriends for calling them “weird.”
We’re strictly highlights, scores and yardage. Stupid questions are going to have us sleeping on the couch or apologizing to your girlfriends for calling them “weird.” They are weird. Questions are weird. The only thing weirder are car commercials that say we’re adventurous and full of beans.
We’ve just watched three consecutive football games. We’re not full of beans, we’re full of beer. We can barely make it to the washroom.
So don’t ask any more stupid questions. Talk to your girlfriends, take it up with your astrologer. We’re too upset by the linesman’s last call to even think about relationships, or love or cleaning out the cat’s litter box.
That’s my rant. Now I’m going to get smacked in the head.
Okay, I’ll clean the cat’s litter box. No, I won’t call your questions stupid, anymore. Sure, I’m a dweeb. No, I don’t know where Kilimanjaro is. Yes, I promise I won’t have a threesome with my ex girlfriend. Yes, your girlfriends have far better insights than me…geesh.
Okay, I’m making up the couch (at least I don’t have your jimmy leg to worry about)—OUCH! THAT REALLY FUCKING HURTS!
Robert Cormack is a satirist, novelist and blogger. His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)” is available online and at most major bookstores. Check out Skyhorse Press or Simon and Schuster for more details.
