Sweet talking a woman requires more than a sundae
Burt's Eye View
The more a man talks, the less likely he is to say something significant.
That’s the word from several experts on the subject, all of whom happen to be female. Most are related to me. According to their standard of worthy talk, I haven’t engaged in a meaningful conversation since 1983.
I say significance lies in the ear of the beholder. Examine this conversation:
“Would you like a bowl of ice cream?”
One of my critics huffed, “There wasn’t an ounce of consequence to the whole exchange.”
Seriously? Ice cream. Hot fudge. A bowl full! I still get weepy-eyed thinking about that heart-to-heart.
“No, no, no,” my definer of deserving dialogue said. “We need purposeful conversation. Discussions of merit. Substantial, useful discourse about topics of meaning.”
“Well… What are your hopes and dreams?”
“I hope for a big bowl of ice cream. I dream of lots of hot fudge.”
Deciphering her next meaningful sermon, I gathered it didn’t meet the standard of significance, whatever that is.
Scientific research tells us there are major differences between the way men and women think.
Well, duh, we didn’t need a scientific study to know that. But study it the scientists did.
According to the research, men generally are single-minded while women can weave many threads of thought at once.
This is why God elected women to be moms. A man couldn’t do a load of laundry or change the car oil and keep track of the kids at the same time:
“Put down that welder a minute and listen to me.”
“Roger, what happened in the kitchen?”
“Huh? Oh, little Jeffy was hungry. I gave him a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, jam and a jug of milk.”
“No tornado or marauders or herds of angry elephants?”
“No. I don’t think so. Not that I noticed. Maybe. I gotta finish the welding.”
“Roger. Roger! Where is Jeffy now?”
We’re just different — which is exactly as it should be. My wise and wonderful wife, Terry, says in moments of significant conversation, “If we were both the same, one of us would be superfluous.” (She never specifies which one of us would be the redundant one. I’m afraid to ask.)
Terry once joined a women’s group and within two meetings, she knew the life stories of every member, want to or not.
Meanwhile, I had attended a men’s Bible study for six months and barely knew anything personal about the guys I shared doughnuts with every week.
“You at least know their names, right?” Terry asked.
“I think one of them is named George. Or maybe Khalid. There’s a Stanley. Or is his name Ralph? No, Pedro, I think.”
“How can you have talked with these guys for six months and not even know their names?”
I shrugged. “It never came up.”
“Men,” she said.
“Oh, but I nodded at the guy with the scar at McDonald’s after study last week. We stopped for a hot fudge sundae too.”
— Say nothing to Cole at firstname.lastname@example.org, on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or @BurtonWCole on Twitter.