I’m sorry I didn’t hear you, I was digesting my toast.
Sitting quietly enjoying breakfast with my partner in a busy coffee shop one Sunday morning, the silence in my mind was shattered by her saying, “You haven’t heard a word I just said!”. I must admit, I hadn’t, I was too busy digesting my toast.
Men use few words in a day to communicate (some research suggests 2000 words a day), but women on the other hand use five times as many in 24 hours! I am a shrink and not an accountant, but the benefit of High School mathematics leads me to conclusion (and correct me if I am wrong here) that this amounts to a massive ten thousand words!
Girls start talking much earlier than boys and it seems that we will never catch up – ever! A study of parents changing the nappies of little boys and girls, the filling of which often resembles a kind of butternut stew, has shown that the two sexes are treated very differently. Little girls are talked to throughout the cleansing process and are told how beautiful they are. Boys, on the other hand are tugged, tickled and generally encouraged to be active. It all started in nappies, with boys there was physical interaction and with girls communication.
And that is what I was doing, interacting with the toast, my mind tuned out to other sources of stimulation. My partner did not see it this way, she thought misguidedly that I was disinterested and disengaged. I wasn’t, I was simply single tasking.
Trying to backtrack and ask for a repeat of the string of words that had wafted by me unnoticed the first time seemed both logical and polite. The request, however was met with both scornful look and silent icy rebuke (as noisy as silent can be), the likes of which I had not expected. Simply put, she has ten thousand words a day to use, and just how hard can it be to use a few of them to repeat what was said before?
Putting the most attentive look on my face, and following men’s magazine advice I leaned slightly in to show my interest, I encouraged her to say what she needed to say. To my amazement I was met with stony silence and a tight-lipped mouth that offered no sound at all! Add to that folded arms and body language that can only be described as being somewhat negative and not open at all, my confusion began to mount. The toast was pushed ever so slightly to one side by my left hand as a gesture of engagement, and I started to wonder where she had put the butter.
To be quiet honest, frustration began to creep into my voice as I once more encouraged her to voice her opinion – again! I was starting to eat into my allotted words for the day, keeping in mind that at least 100 words need to kept in reserve for the purpose of suggesting (you may replace “suggesting” with any of the following - requesting, cajoling, light heatedly flirting or pleading) some form of intimate adult entertainment later that night.
A third request ventured from my mouth, and please remember, that as in baseball, three strikes means you are out. Still nothing from the tightly sealed mouth, so I said “OK” (in my mind, however, my arms made a sweeping gesture, and with the sound of the crowd ringing in my mind’s ears my mind’s voice said, “You’re outa here!).
The process of recommitting to the toast is somewhat confusing at first, as I had started the process of covering one the two remaining lightly toasted bread slices with butter, but the question was, which one. A second decision needed to follow shortly, strawberry jam or marmalade?
“You are not listening to me” drifted over me, and I replied, “You didn’t say anything!”
“Oh yes I did, you just weren’t listening as usual.”
Mustering my best Dr Phil voice and the intense stare of Oprah, I said, “I’m here and I am listening.” I must admit I should not have added, “Now please speak in an audible voice, and if you don’t mind, can you take the dive-bomber shrill out of your voice.”
Cast again into the ‘I have picture, but no sound’ scenario, I realized that those one hundred words that I was keeping in reserve for post sundown merriment could now be used for other purposes as their initial reason for reservation would clearly not be happening today or any day soon. You see, men upon awakening consider their chances of achieving an orgasm, and if the prospects seem good, all is well in our world. If the prospects, however, appear bleak we become grumpy. This particular morning, the possibility looked relatively promising, but now grumpiness quickly found a home.
I must admit that I had not done particularly well throughout these particular slices of toast, and that I should have eaten them concentrating less on the process, and more on my partner. I should, instead have ordered the omelet which demands less attention and is more quickly devoured, you live and learn. Making a mental note to self about the omelet, and realising that the a possible second innings may be remotely possible (and hoping deeply that those 100 words could somehow be used as they were intended) I ventured, “You look cute when you are angry!”.
To my surprise she said thank you, but the “I must look cute a lot to you, because you tick me off all the time” came as a bit of a shock. I didn’t say, “yes your bum does look big in that” or anything of that nature, but I might as well have!
The cold war loomed, carnal pleasures faded from fantasy screen view so I did what any self respecting man would do at this moment. I said:
“You should try the toast, it’s delicious!”
Just one question, how do you get butter and strawberry jam stains out of a white shirt?
