oliver

Thursday, March 1, 2012

This is Why We're Different: Pansies vs. Suicidals

I made something for a friend (cuz I'm crafty like that).  A male friend.  A male friend who is an English major.  I showed it to my husband and asked, "do you think he'll like it?"  My husband looked at it, smirked, and shook his head, but said "yes."  "What?" I asked him.  He just looked at me.  I looked down at the crafted item in my hand that was, well, something that would appeal to the emotions.  I looked back at my husband, exasperated, and exclaimed, "he's an English major!"  As if that explained everything.


You see, MOST male English majors I know are very  much not typical alpha males.  They seem to be more in touch with their feelings and emotions, and they are often more sensitive than the average guy.  I'm not saying they're pansies or anything, but one of them is generally not the first person you envision when someone is described as "manly."  A male English major won't beat the shit out of a guy who hits on you, but he can probably insult him 10 ways to Sunday and leave Mr. Hey-I-Like-Your-Tits scratching his head over what the word "microphallus" means.

My husband, however, is very much NOT an English major; he's got an MBA and works in a technical field.  He may not be the polar opposite of the Male English Major--he can cut a guy down to size in an impressive verbal manner as well--, but he's definitely not even in the same hemisphere in "guy world" as my English Major brethren.

I've met most of my male friends in school, so they do tend to be English majors.  And, whether they want to admit it or not, most of them fall somewhere within the range of the Male English Major stereotype.  And that's okay with me.  Heck, I used to think I wanted to end up with an English major, but it turns out I do MUCH better with someone . . . of a different mind.  Our different minds lead to such entertaining and playful conversations as the one I started to relate at the beginning of this entry.  Here's the next part:

Him: "Whatever happened to badass, manly writers, like Hemingway?"
Me: "You mean writers who killed themselves?  They're on antidepressants now."
Him: "Alcohol was their anti-depressant!"
Me: "I'm pretty sure that's the OPPOSITE of an anti-depressant."

Our conversation ended a few lines later with my statement along the lines of "thanks, but I prefer the sensitive guys on Prozac to the 'manly' men who blow their heads off."  I mean, seriously, who wants to clean up THAT mess?

I'm pretty sure my husband would do it without flinching.  "These brains aren't going to pick themselves up . . .."

This is why we're different.

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