Macho, macho man
So today as I was walking out of the Victoria's Secret I noticed something...
Okay, a couple things before I go on. First off I know what you're thinking and the answer is no, you filthy-minded buggers. They don't carry my size so it wasn't for me. I was buying body spray for Legal Counsel, because the best message you can send your significant other is, "cover up your stink." Second off, there is no more awkward feeling than being a guy and walking into Victoria's Secret alone. Except maybe walking into Frederick's of Hollywood alone. Guys walking into VS will get the stare I imagine is typically reserved for the mustachioed gentleman as he nails a Megan's Law sign into his front yard.
Anyway, what I noticed was that I would not hold the bright pink bag by it's little string handle. I was gripping the bag itself and tucking it under my arm, as though I was preparing to run it in for a touchdown. Even after noticing how I was carrying it, I couldn't bring my to use the handle. My arm rejecting the command. It's as though my body was worried the jaunty swinging motion would make me look more girly as I carried the bright pink bag around.
I realized that the same is true for plastic bags. I don't grab the little handle-holes. I wrap up my product and carry it like a severed head in a Hefty bag. Or if you prefer a less morbid analogy, like I'm palming a dodgeball...in preparation for beating somebody to death with it. Dang it, I have to go there, don't I?
This train of thought (and yes, that was my actual train of thought) made me remember an observation Legal Counsel had made. If I, or most other guys, am offered a straw with my drink at a restaurant, I won't use it. More manly that way, I s'pose. Wouldn't want to put something so phallic in my mouth. Of course we men won't hesitate to use the straw if it's already in the drink, because...well...when opportunity knocks...this is uncomfortable. Moving on!
Don't get me wrong - I am in no way insecure about my masculinity. I'm an avid fan of Project Runway (go Kenley!), I keep an up-to-date list of my man-crushes (Ewan always has been and always will be #1), and I am currently on the waiting list for a Smart Car. But something inherent in my body refuses to let me do certain things. Maybe there's a gene on the Y chromosome that prevents guys from breaking certain Man Laws: skipping, singing in a falsetto voice in public, letting a stray deer get away without taking at least one shot at it, etc.
Wait, I do all of those things! Is my Y chromosome broken? Let me think...
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to studying for the boards. And crocheting. Always with the crochet...
Okay, a couple things before I go on. First off I know what you're thinking and the answer is no, you filthy-minded buggers. They don't carry my size so it wasn't for me. I was buying body spray for Legal Counsel, because the best message you can send your significant other is, "cover up your stink." Second off, there is no more awkward feeling than being a guy and walking into Victoria's Secret alone. Except maybe walking into Frederick's of Hollywood alone. Guys walking into VS will get the stare I imagine is typically reserved for the mustachioed gentleman as he nails a Megan's Law sign into his front yard.
Anyway, what I noticed was that I would not hold the bright pink bag by it's little string handle. I was gripping the bag itself and tucking it under my arm, as though I was preparing to run it in for a touchdown. Even after noticing how I was carrying it, I couldn't bring my to use the handle. My arm rejecting the command. It's as though my body was worried the jaunty swinging motion would make me look more girly as I carried the bright pink bag around.
I realized that the same is true for plastic bags. I don't grab the little handle-holes. I wrap up my product and carry it like a severed head in a Hefty bag. Or if you prefer a less morbid analogy, like I'm palming a dodgeball...in preparation for beating somebody to death with it. Dang it, I have to go there, don't I?
This train of thought (and yes, that was my actual train of thought) made me remember an observation Legal Counsel had made. If I, or most other guys, am offered a straw with my drink at a restaurant, I won't use it. More manly that way, I s'pose. Wouldn't want to put something so phallic in my mouth. Of course we men won't hesitate to use the straw if it's already in the drink, because...well...when opportunity knocks...this is uncomfortable. Moving on!
Don't get me wrong - I am in no way insecure about my masculinity. I'm an avid fan of Project Runway (go Kenley!), I keep an up-to-date list of my man-crushes (Ewan always has been and always will be #1), and I am currently on the waiting list for a Smart Car. But something inherent in my body refuses to let me do certain things. Maybe there's a gene on the Y chromosome that prevents guys from breaking certain Man Laws: skipping, singing in a falsetto voice in public, letting a stray deer get away without taking at least one shot at it, etc.
Wait, I do all of those things! Is my Y chromosome broken? Let me think...
- I can't throw a ball more than 10 feet (3.048m)
- I don't follow any sports teams
- I prefer drinks named after child actresses from the 1930s over beer
- I openly cry in front of people...constantly
- I know how to knit
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to studying for the boards. And crocheting. Always with the crochet...
posted by Montgomery at 2:08 PM
1 Comments:
YAY! You're back! Hopefully not setting a trend in only blogging in months that start with A. I blame Kate, she sent me your blog, and I was hooked! Keep up the writing!
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