No, Men Will NEVER Really Understand You

During my puberty years and beyond, I found myself constantly asking one question (and no, it wasn’t “when will I ever get boobs?”)– will boys EVER get less frustrating?

I know, I know– we’re always told growing up that females are the complicated gender, but, if you’re a female, you know that’s not really the truth.

Boys were always flaky, aloof, seemingly uncaring, and absolutely 5,000% oblivious. I swore that they were complicated by their own ignorance and that wisdom must come with age. The more you’re around the other gender, the more experience you have, the more sense they must make, right? So adulthood would be a piece of cake. Men wouldn’t be so frustrating, and I wouldn’t feel like I was always talking to a brick wall. Maybe I’d even end up with sage wisdom to pass down to future generations on how to avoid this long and complicated stage altogether. Even just a little would be immensely helpful.

With over ten years of marriage under my belt, I feel I can finally, properly, give the answer young me was always looking for.

My family leaves for our annual Disney vacation in under 2 weeks, and I’ve been trying to get back in shape after a nasty injury for months now. It has been a very frustrating battle. My husband knows this. One of my main struggles isn’t the exercise- it’s food. I love food, probably a little too much, and I have trouble refraining from eating things I “shouldn’t”, and I’m not awesome at moderation. My husband also knows this. I’ve been really cracking down on myself lately, because there’s not much time left, and it’s basically put me into a constant state of hangry. My husband is VERY aware of this. Breakfast and lunch, I’m great at. I’ve got the whole “healthy eating” thing down pat, but when it comes to dinner where I’m cooking for an entire family, it’s much more difficult. Healthy food is boring, I’m not a great cook, nor am I creative one, so keeping things interesting AND healthy is a struggle. And if you think I’m going to make two separate meals so that I can stay on track while my family enjoys slightly less healthy but far more delicious foods, you’re insane. Like, legitimately batshit. That’s never gonna happen.

Dinner is a bitch. Should I put so much pressure on myself? Hell no I shouldn’t, but I am- so, let’s continue the story, shall we?

By dinner time each day, I am a level of stabby that shouldn’t be poked. This came to a head on Tuesday night. I couldn’t find anything decent to eat. The one idea I had sounded disgusting, but at least it was an idea. Lightbulb! Since these ideas were so nasty, but still sounded like I was at least putting effort into finding something to make out of the ingredients we had already in the house, I’d send the idea over to my husband, dripping in so much distaste he’d nix the idea. Why not be direct? LOOK, PEOPLE. THIS IS MARRIAGE. SOMETIMES YOU KNOW YOU CAN GET WHAT YOU WANT WHEN YOU MAKE YOUR SPOUSE THINK IT’S THEIR IDEA, OKAY? STRATEGY! Think smart!

Me: All we have are turkey meatballs. We don’t have buns. Just burger buns. I guess I could make meatball sandwiches. ugh.

Him: That could work







Son of a bitch.

I go to the kitchen, and pull out the meatballs. There aren’t enough for meatball sandwiches, y’all.

Me: Okay, so, fuck. There are only 9 meatballs. That’s 2 1/4 per sandwich. That’s not enough.

Him: We could make that work

I just. Can’t. With. This. Shit.









I go back to the kitchen and angrily dump the meatballs into a crockpot and then go to grab the red sauce. There’s only 1/8th of a jar, DEFINITELY NOT ENOUGH for meatball sandwiches.

I stomp back to the computer

Me: There’s no red sauce. I can’t make this crap. Not that I wanted it, anyway.

Him: Well, I’m sure you could make your own red sauce…

I just……………

Me: I’m not doing that.

Him: Yeah… it’d make too much sauce anyway.

Oh, so is he finally starting to get it?

Him: You can just make turkey burgers










Me: Isn’t the meat frozen? (crosses fingers, tossing salt over the shoulder)

Him: No, it’s thawed in the fridge.

I swear to all that is holy, y’all. I swear. This man is about to have ground turkey smashed in his face like a creampie.

Me: I mean. I don’t want that, but I GUESS SINCE IT’S ALL WE HAVE.

All he had to do was take the hint. TAKE THE HINT THAT THERE IS NOTHING I WANT IN THIS HOUSE. Actually, let me stop letting him off easy. It’s not even a hint at this point. We’ve been married for ten years. He knows me. He knows what I’m going through. He knows when I’m basically pointing his ass to picking something up because we’ve been through this exact scenario seven hundred and ninety three times, and yet still

Him: Okay, so do you want fries with that?


He shows up with a bag of frozen fucking french fries.









The answer is no. Men will never understand you. You will never understand them. I’d tell you to save yourself the trouble by being direct, but that just makes too much sense and relationships are weird.

Posted on August 10, 2017 by Holdin' Holden 0 Comment
Holdin' Holden

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