And yet, yes, I still want to marry one of these cavemen.
by Anita Dadà
Do you know how hard it is to be a guy, the never ending balancing act between consistently being an awesome civil gentleman while also having a cave-brain equivalent to a dog that wants to hump the leg of everything it likes? It’s woefully underreported, this dichotomy.
It’s even worse when you’re in any way “romantic”; when one voice inside of you is all His Girl Friday-like, all “Gee golly, I sure want to take her on a picnic”. Which of course you have to temper to the other voice which is breathing down your neck saying “a motel room, a bottle of scotch, and enough lubricant to drown a leprechaun”.
The core brain of any 20-something male is basically two deaf people having an argument while everyone else in the bowling alley of your mind looks on and wonders if they should say anything – if so, then what? – before getting their shit back together and mumbling “I hope he gets his shit together by the time he’s 30”.