Okay...forget it.

I was going to wax philosophical about the long post earlier regarding men and lack of church attendence, but I really do think it's systemic of a larger problem. Before I launch into this:

I am NOT, in any way shape of form, suggesting we roll back time to the 1950s, when being anything but white-middle class got you ostracized. I am not suggesting we end women suffrage, or revert to the laws that made us chattel. I am not advocating a return to older days when bigotry and violence was the way to make your point. I am using HUGE honkin' stereotypes, and I don't mean to insult women who can work on cars, men who can shop or anyone who falls in between.

Got it? Good.

Now, that being said...

Why is it that men who act like...men, get so slammed?

Women want men to be absolute superheroes. Women expect men to be slightly hairier versions of their girlfriends. Women want men who are, basically, denying how their brain works.

Before you get your back up, I'm not dismissing men who have developed sensitivity and compassion. Those are incredibly important traits, and they help with this little thing called mercy, something that Jesus was all about.

I actually do believe that biology plays a huge part in how we react to things, and men and women have different chemical reactions in the brain.

Women, being society-oriented, tend to react to stresses with an empathetic bent; we commiserate and validate your feelings, and let you know you're not alone. We form support groups where you can talk about your feelings, and get lots of petting and stroking and tsking. That's a good thing, but it's definately a female way to handle problems and stresses.

If your cat has died recently, your girlfriends will gather around you, and remind you that the kitty died happy and loved, and that for a little cat, maybe that's not such a bad way to go. I know, because I did this recently.

If your car isn't working, women will gather around and bitch that Fords (except for Mustangs) really do suck and your dealership obviously suckered you.

If you can't find those killer black pumps that were on sale last week, your sisters-in-shopping will tell you where there's an ever better deal on some killer Jimmy Choos, and you really didn't want those cheap-assed Bandolinos anyway.

Men, they want to fix whatever it is that's wrong. They want to make it better so that the woman isn't upset any more. In the old days, that meant going out and smashing the person, object or situation until it wasn't moving any more. Then hitting it again, and maybe again, just to show how bad-assed you really are, and then go brag about it to your friends. Nowadays, there are assault and battery laws, property laws and "how to behave like a civilized person in public" laws, and they're a good thing.

If your cat dies, the man in your life is liable to think "Oh SHIT!" and wonder if getting a new kitten will help alleviate the pain. He might also point out that you no longer have to clean the litterbox or pay for vaccinations. This usually isn't very comforting, but it is practical.

If your car dies, many times, the man in your life will try and diagnose it over the phone. He might throw out random terms like "distributor cap," or "starter solenoid," or maybe even "alternator." If he fancies himself a shade-tree mechanic, he may offer to come over and work on it, or give you the name of a buddy of his who's a great mechanic.

If you complain about the fabu black shoes that were on sale last week, but you can't find now, the man in your life will look at you like you are crazy. End of story. Well, actually, he might ask you what, exactly, is wrong with the other 18 pairs of black shoes in your closet? Quick tip: Don't try and enlighten them as to the differences in toes, straps, heels, back or materials. You will simply get another "You're crazy. You know that right?" look.

I have a perfect example. Before I left for Iraq, I bought my wedding dress. I bought it so that I wouldn't have to stress over the dress thing when we got here. Yeah, well, a week before the wedding, I go in to have the dress altered, in that I needed it bustled up so I didn't trip on the train. Because I'd spent so much time in body armor, I had gotten a great deal wider in the back and the shoulders, and lost weight in the hips. Needless to say, it didn't fit, they didn't know if they could alter it enough, and I freaked the fark out.

So, I go back to the hotel room. I have obviously been bawling, and my sweetest husband asks WTF? I got about three breaths into the explanation, and lost my mind. The only words that were understandable were "I got FAT!" My darling husband spent about five minutes petting his distraught bride, and then suggested that we go back to the shop and get another dress. No fuss, no muss, just a practical solution. Needless to say, it worked, and I ended up with a dress I love.

I happen to like the fact that my husband is a man. He's not violent, but he's got no problem considering the use of force when I'm threatened. He's willing to get grumpy when he feels he needs to, and he's all about taking care of me, regardless of whether or not I can take care of myself. He is the spiritual head of our household, and I'm good with that.

He's not afraid of being a man, with all the good and bad that might imply, and I LIKE that. I like him, and his, in this society, lack of PC psuedo-compassion that allows other men from other societies to walk all over him, and by extension me.

I like being the softer one in this relationship. As John mentioned earlier, I think my inner feminist is on life-support.