Riddle Me This: Men Rules

18 Feb

Youtuber missxrojas asks, while talking about the film He’s Just Not That Into You: “Why should there be a list of rules that women have to accommodate for men?”
Given the few such rules mentioned in the film, I still reckon men still have the worse deal when you count the huge amount of tedious, petty and often contradictory demands that they have to put up with from their girlfriends.
If you disagree, or refute the fact that such rules exist because of your status as a crazy person, here are just a few examples.

Men must:

  • be prepared to absorb all kinds of grief at a woman’s time of the month, and are not allowed to voice any kind of complaint about it, since this invariably incites a huge rant concerning the lack of control women have over their emotions at this time (thus conveniently absolving them from blame). These rants often feature a phrase to the effect that existence is generally easier for men since they don’t have to deal with menstruation. The male is also prohibited from pointing out the obvious fact that, worse, they have to deal with menstruating women instead.
  • never mention anything about a woman’s weight, ever. At any point. Even when asked. On pain of, well, pain, or at least chronic earache.
  • upon having their girlfriends move in with them, endure the swift and permanent proliferation of bizarre cosmetics in their previously minimalist bathroom. These will include at least five of the following: endless bottles of shampoo and conditioner, bath bombs, scented bubble bath, sets of moisturisers that were gifted a few Christmases ago and will never be used, pot pourri, candles, something called “musk” which appears to be some kind of cream in a tiny bottle that has been gathering dust for years and will continue to do so until you throw it out, skin cream, hand cream, antibacterial wipes, separate face washes for spots, blemishes and blackheads, and those little things that look like pearls that explode in the bath and get glitter all over everything for the next three years. Note that this is all without mentioning the army of strange and terrible elixirs and appliances which women use to subjugate their hair. They also have no qualms about using the stuff that was already in the bathroom, including your razor, with which they will shave their legs and offhandedly apologise but not before you’ve picked the razor up in the morning to use it and discovered the mass of disgusting leg-stubble that it’s covered with. And they say we’re unhygienic. Bah.
  • be at the epicenter of a terrible war between his sense of humour and his dislike of being shouted at when asked “Do you think this looks good?” while she’s shopping for clothes. (Incidentally, he can’t complain about being dragged out to help her shop for clothes, either). He could give in to his sense of humour and tell his partner that that particular “designer” top looks like something that’s been dredged from the Mariana Trench and undergone several bouts of torture, or that he sincerely doesn’t care about whether or not she buys the top since she’ll do whatever the fuck she wants anyway, but this will result in him being shouted at and possibly dumped on the spot. Alternatively, he could go for the easier and more common response of “Yeah, it’s alright” and then when he offhandedly mentions (over breakfast, six years later) that he never really liked that top, she will remember with absolute clarity the words “Yes of course, dear, that would be a wonderful addition to your already fantastic wardrobe” coming out of his mouth and place a little black mark in the big red book that she keeps in her mind, entitled “THINGS FOR WHICH HE MUST PAY“.
  • endure the endless swamp of confusion and fury that is his partner’s social life. He will, at some point, have to listen to an hour-long diatribe concerning his girlfriend’s bestie Sarah and her sister Rachel and their friend Siobhan who totally blanked her while they were coming out of Primark, she even said hello and everything, but they just totally ignored her, bitches, and then she heard from Nat that Rach’s nose is out of joint because, what do you mean who’s Nat, Nat from school, Nat who she’s known for five years, for God’s sake keep up! Anyway, Rachel’s in a mood cause she (the girlfriend) was chatting to her (Rachel)’s ex at that party at Stacey (Stacey)’s house and that she (her [Rachel]) thought that she (girlfriend [yours]) was eyeing him (ex-boyfriend [bloke {not you}] ) up and said something properly bitchy about her *deep breath* shoes, and she didn’t know why until Nat and Siobhan, who’s a two-faced cow, God, what’s her problem, anyway, until they told her that she (Rach) saw her (girlfriend) doing that (chat) to him (bloke) and now they’re totally against her (she [girlfriend {person talking}]). His girlfriend will continue to do this at least four times a week for the rest of their relationship, and will rather rudely ignore the mass of melting brain tissue that dribbles from his ears and nose whenever she brings up Nat or Helen or whoever the fuck. His only responses to these one-woman conversations can be “Hmm”, “Yeah”, “Jesus” and “What a slag”. Truly sadistic girlfriends will then ask him if he was listening to her. Incidentally and terrifyingly, some men become deeply involved and interested in their girlfriends’ social lives, likening it to a favourite soap, full of drama and excitement and always fresh and new. Fortunately, his male friends know their sacred duty on recognising this disease and, solemnly and with great sadness, they will gather unto their afflicted comrade in great numbers to say their farewells before sending the poor creature to a better place, where he will know not sadness nor pain nor people called Siobhan. It is recommended that they do this with a hatchet and a gallon or two of arsenic, just to make absolutely sure.

More of these horrible laws exist, but I don’t have the time or mental strength to list them all. Suffice it to say that the few confusing details women have to suffer through in dealing with men are as a candle in ring of volcanoes compared to those men have to deal with, for we are simple and honest creatures, and we know not what you do.  Of course, here speaks a man. Women could easily argue that men are foolish and dull-witted creatures who don’t pay enough attention to the more important things in life – like tact, emotions and personal grooming – and maybe that’s true too.

Let us simply agree to put up with each other for as long as is required, or at least until one gender snaps and declares bloody war on the other. If most romantic comedies are to be believed, this will probably be on or about next Thursday, so I’d advise you to pack your bags and set sail for a desert island.

Oh, and for the love of God, don’t bring your girlfriend with you.


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