Someone recently had the audacity to disagree with me. I know, can you believe it?! I thought one of the perks of being a 40+ year-old man would be that all would respect my wisdom. When I was younger I assumed the time period of my life from 40 to pretty much death would be filled with people solemnly nodding their heads in agreement with me … at least until I got too old and it became impolite to argue because it might confuse me.
I’ve heard all this stuff about mansplaining, which is when a man explains something to a woman in a condescending manner, and I thought, “Wait, people are saying that like I’m not supposed to do that. How will everyone know how smart I am?”
And, the worst part - sit down when you read this - is that this person disagreed with me not on the internet, which is the proper place to air one’s differences in this modern, civilized era - lobbed certainly from the safety of miles away and preferably anonymously. No, this outlaw looked me in the eye, spoke firmly but courteously and said, “Pardon me, sir, but I respectfully disagree.”
I was outraged.
The patriarchy isn’t the only thing getting challenged in beautiful, crime-free Iuka, Mississippi this autumn. My immune system has folded quicker than the French Army. I spent one day out breathing in all the Fall air which turned out to be about as good for me as licking a New York City escalator handrail. As I type this early in the morning (which may or not be the day after my deadline), I’ve got gross snot coming out of my nose and something downright unholy coming up from my chest when I cough. Seriously, if my snot is like the unwelcome relative who comes to your house once every few Christmases without a gift and steals whatever prescriptions aren’t bolted down in the medicine cabinet; then this gunk in my chest is the cousin who straight opens a meth lab in your guest bathroom. It is a color that I would describe as too masculine to be just green. Fevers have been traded amongst the members of the Clark household like they were baseball cards (or, for those of you under 30, Magic: The Gathering cards). I don’t feel too bad just yet, but if the colors that are coming out of me are any indication then, folks, this snot is going to be a booger.
But I will soldier on, not because I’m brave, I’m just afraid of what my wife will do to me if I make her have to take care of the kids alone. They may look cute and innocent, but that’s because you’ve never slept in the same bed with them. In their slumber they kick, roll and jab. One might as well try to sleep with a donkey that’s gone into labor.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but most days our 6 and 10 year-olds subsist on a diet of Pop Tarts, Oreos and whatever candy is being sold in the concession stand at the event we’re attending that evening. They keep their swimsuit figure year round, though, because they burn more calories than a marathon runner in their sleep. Half the time, they’ll wake up with their head at the foot of the bed. And the whole time they are awake they are asking for something. So, my sainted wife will likely not take pity on me if this cold turns into something else. She’ll probably say I have just got a case of the man flu, which I’ve repeatedly told her is, scientifically, a real thing.
Maybe I just need to mansplain myself better.