M(i)s-Communication: What’s In A Word?
You see how short that sentence was? Quick and to the point. This is proof that it was written by a man. That same sentence would have read like this if it was written by a woman. Ah hem…The tears flowed down the face of the son of God as the floor beneath him became drenched with the moisture of the most high and on and on and on.
Men want facts. Women need details. And here is the beginning of why communication between the two sexes is an ongoing issue and will always be an issue. Simply, our minds just work differently.
I have two beautiful sisters. And they can always tell when I’m on the phone with my best friend, Mike, due to how short the conversations are, particularly if it concerns going out somewhere or doing something later. It becomes a rundown of who (us), what (clubbing), when (10 p.m.), where (somewhere with women) and why (because there are women there). No need to go into much more detail than that.
But when it comes to conversation between the two sexes, our wires are continuously crossed because we speak different languages.
Women speak in English and us men speak English, but that doesn’t mean we know what in the hell they are talking about. ‘It’s okay, you can go out with your boys’ really means ‘if this man leaves, he better know he’s sleeping on the couch when he gets back.’ Or us asking ‘what’s wrong?’ and you saying ‘nothing’ really means ‘that the world is crumbling down around me and the fact that you asked me if something was wrong means you don’t really know me at all.’
I will never understand the need women have for making men guess what is on their minds. Like, why not just say exactly what you mean? Is that too much to ask? A lot of the issues between the sexes would be resolved if women would just adhere to what men do and just answer the question as it was asked. It seems pretty simple to me.
Having to forward text messages from women to my sisters or female friends just to decipher the coding is not something that a man should have to do. I’m not saying I do it often, I’m just saying sometimes I wish I could read the words of a woman without having to go into a deep decoding process.
Then we have the questions. All of those many, many questions. ‘Do I look fat?’ is a favorite because it’s a lose-lose, which seems to be the result of most female-asked questions. If you say, ‘yeah baby, you do look like you’ve gained a few pounds’, you’re an asshole who will be begging for hugs, let alone sex, for the next two months. If you lie and say, ‘naw baby, you look great’, you could be called a liar because she really wanted you to convince her to change into a different dress.
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US????!!!!
Excuse the screaming but honestly, what is the point? Say what you feel, say what you mean and mean what you say.
For those who have spoken to me in the past about the male and female dynamic, you know what’s up next…
Men are so simple they’re complicated, and women are so complicated they’re simple.
Meaning, men live such a low-maintenance, easy existence that women almost look at us crazy like, ‘it can’t be that easy?’ Well, it is actually, until you make it complicated.
Women turn themselves into simple creatures because they attempt these elongated transfers of information when the man is only looking for the key facts in all the extra randomness she’s spewing. I’ve had women tell me very, very, very long stories and all I did was sit and wait to ask them one simple question, them give me one simple answer and then me relaying to them that ‘there ya have it, problem solved.’ I took their 12.7 minute diatribe and turned it into a 30 second revelation because I looked at the facts of the situation while she swam in the nothingness of excess details.
I’ve spent almost my entire life learning to speak ‘woman’. Nobody will ever be successful in the task, but I feel like I will get closer than most. My only complaint is that I shouldn’t have to go through all of this. I shouldn’t have to decode the words of my significant other and add 22.49 extra minutes to our conversation when we could be spending that time engaging in the playfighting that leads to the creation of children.
I would rather spend that time lying on the couch with your head on my chest as I brush your hair and stare at a beauty I don’t deserve to be near. I would rather sit across the table from one another as we enjoy the meal you’ve prepared, our eyes meeting every few minutes as a reminder as to why we are there in the first place.
But instead, you want to talk, which really just means that you want me to listen. Then when I do listen, you claim I’m not listening. Then you say ‘what did I say?’ and when I tell the truth by saying, ‘I said I was listening, not memorizing’, now I’m back in the doghouse and my mile-long trek back to having permission to see you naked has to begin again.
We just can’t win.
No wonder Jesus wept.