Today I am a man.
I’ve just stepped out of a meeting–a meeting with four women–about a couple of events coming up. What started out as a fairly sensible meeting quickly devolved into a debate about the proper color of tablecloths and what sort of greeting services we should provide for our guests. Should we meet them and walk them to the venue? No, we want people to be free to move on if they’re ready. Should we provide maps? No, maps are too confusing. Will we need walkie-talkies? Well, maybe. Should we use the headphone attachments? And Shadrach begat Chaim and Chaim begat Asa and Asa begat Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Yadda infinitum. I walked out thinking, “Jeez, woman…”
Now, I know it’s not just women. In fact, I know a lot of men who really dig that kind of thing. But it’s not me. I hate the freakin’ details.
Fuck the kvetching and gimme a wrecking ball.
sturtle [dot] com 