So I got to go see the Atlantic Ocean again for the first time in years. Lovely day at the beach by the way, with way more women in bikinis than I’m used to in the chilly sun-averse northwest corner I call home. I’ve already mentioned this has been a bit of a working vacation as far as this blog goes and here’s another item.

So I’m sitting with two women who’ve known each other since childhood. I’m not sure how it came up but at one point each was trying to persuade me that hers (though not the other’s) legs were actually fat. Neither was willing to concede to the other’s point. Neither agreed that the other had fat legs, only that they themselves were. Meanwhile fat was the last think I would have said about either since they both have lean athletic bodies.

Ok. So who gets to decide who is or isn’t attractive? I don’t mean to sound bitter here, but are constantly blamed for setting standards for women’s appearances and they weren’t hearing a word of it. For that matter, nobody’s ever listened to me when I’ve told them they were beautiful. Not without contradicting me outright anyway, or acting as if it’s some kind of desperate nose-holding ploy to get into their pants anyway.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m willing to shoulder the blame if it really is my fault, but I still think that the most vain, egotistical, and cruel man I’ve ever met was still more forgiving about appearance than way, way, way too many women are of themselves and others.

Reflecting back on my recently relocated original post to this blog, and a more recent post about men in lockerrooms I don’t think I’ve ever heard a man refer to a woman as a cock-sucker, slut, or whore except, perhaps, when very hurt or angry in which case it was used in the common sense rather that a literally descriptive one.

Outside of maybe romance novels, comic books, and advertisements I don’t think many men think the way you think we think.

I mean, think about it. We can’t simultaneously be accused of a willingness to screw anything that moves on the one hand, and dictating precisely which shade of eyeliner is required to get us into the sack on the other.

(Actually, I’m not sure we can reliably be accused of either, but everyone has to admit we can’t be doing both simultaneously.)