Though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run.
Blue, resist the urge to use facebook. You can do it. Good luck.
Cats and dogs can be friends. So can cowboys and indians. So can we.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Kitty Claws

Women are mysterious creatures that have fascinated me ever since I was a kindergarten Romeo. They seem to be living in a parallel world of their own that we, traditional men, will never be able to fathom. Which is why I've always found it ironic that most me-and-my-relationship self-help books and glossy magazines alike are marketed toward women. If anyone needs a bit of guidance, it's us traditional hunky men. Of course, there's no such book when you really need one. Or (cr)app.

Take this moment in my life.

After class I was talking to a couple of female students — four if I remember correctly — in my private lair that some would dare call an office. In accordance with the manual of industrious studentship, they had some questions about today's lesson on English grammar.

And then something happened.

Angie (now my bride, then not-so-very-much-my-bride) entered my office and smiled at me. She'd come to pick me up but didn't get a chance to utter a single utterance, for four girls had suddenly transformed into panthers, fangs and claws ready to attack the girl they didn't know. There was tension in the room. I could feel it. We all could. Tension so palpable that you could sit on it and think it was a chair.

It lasted a good five seconds but they felt like a life-time. "I'll be down in a minute," I said, and Angie Dear left. The tension was gone as in immediately and the girls smiled at me and continued asking their questions about grammar as if nothing had happened. You know, the ones that were explained quite thoroughly in the grammar books they were carrying around in their feline bags?

As a student I was forced to read Don Juan, the epic satire by Lord Byron that is without a doubt the longest poem I've ever laid my eyes on. I read all 16,000 lines of verse. Surely if there was anyone who could enlighten me on what had happened on that summery day back in 2007, it would have to be the Don. So I opened the tome of love and as my eyes touched the lines as if they were made of pure silk, I came across the following words:

There is a tide in the affairs of women
Which, taken at the flood, leads—God knows where: 
Those navigators must be able seamen 
Whose charts lay down its current to a hair; 

It didn't help me one bit. I guess even Don Juan — who said, Who can penetrate the real sufferings of their she condition? — didn't know shit. He just got lucky.

So my question's still a question… what happened in my office? 

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