Where the boys are, don't count on me

I was thinking of going all gratuitous again with this blog and ponder the question of thongs and the women who either wear them or refuse, for a number of reasons, to wear them. Then I caught myself and decided that the world was a serious place, so there was no room for naughty innuendo and suggestion when there are so many serious matters to be considered.

Therefore, I decided to write about men who hang out with men, instead. I was sitting solo in a favorite coffee joint of Wendy’s and mine this morning, sipping my Starbucks Tall Cardio Challenge Blend and pondering the verities of life – like thongs, for example – when a group of middle aged guys strolled in, chatting amiably with one another.

I had seen the group together at other times and had sometimes wondered about the reason for the gathering. I knew a couple of them slightly, though not all, and I knew they were heterosexual males in various professional callings, like teachers, academics, and so forth. I guess the point that perplexes me is to see a group of guys who prefer the company of men sufficiently to meet up on a regular basis. In other words, to ‘hang out.’

To hang out with no particular purpose other than whatever bond they had. They aren’t members of a team of some sort. That would make sense – you know, post touch-football or golf. They aren’t all in the same sort of business, so it wasn’t a conference situation. No, it seems they’re just buddies. I guess that’s kind of nice, in a way. Nice, but I don’t understand it.

Don’t misconstrue what I’m saying here. I have no objections to my own sex. I have a few good male friends whom I cherish deeply. Periodically I’ll go for lunch or coffee with another guy. It’s just that I have very little desire to buddy-up in a group any longer. In fact, I haven’t much wanted to since I was about 18.

At an earlier stage in life when girls are still something of an alien species – beautiful and tempting, but real scary – guys hang out. They take comfort in their maleness and they do male things like play sports, ride around in cars, talk about cars, talk about sports, and generally eat, burp and fart a lot. It’s part of the process of growing up. It’s healthy. But, past a certain age, it becomes boring and tiresome.

But then there comes a day when girls are not only less scary, but that their company is infinitely more desirable for not just the obvious reason, but because they smell nice, look great, and open the male up to realms he hadn’t really considered in the past. It’s great.

After I had made those discoveries, I no longer wanted to hang with a group of guys. My good friends stayed good friends, but the rest of the gang went their separate ways and I’ve never really missed them. Since adulthood I’ve always preferred the company of females. Some of my best friends are female, and I generally trust their counsel. The females in my life have been good to me. Even my ex wives, despite our domestic problems, were and are good people, and they generally (with a few notable behavioural exceptions – yikes!) treated me with more kindness and compassion than most males are capable of doing. My wife of today is truly my best friend, and I would always prefer to be in her company than in any male’s. There are things that I would tell my wife, or a female friend, that I would never tell another guy. Another guy just wouldn’t understand, even if he’d been through the same thing himself. And if he had, he wouldn’t admit it.

“So, Frank, I just have to share this with you. My wife and I are having problems communicating and I’m feeling in a lot of pain and I need some comfort from somebody I’m close to. I need to unload my innermost anxieties and give vent to my deeper feelings of angst and fear that she is going to leave me.”

“Gee, Ralph. That’s tough. How about them Yanks, huh?”

See what I mean. A woman, on the other hand, if Ralph were to come to her with the same scenario, would be all sympathy and caring, even if she didn’t know Ralph very well. In fact, with two males, under ordinary circumstances, the situation wouldn’t have even occurred. Ralph would have been afraid of appearing weak.

So, that’s why I like girls. Also because they smell nice. And because some of them wear thongs.