O Woman, you are so mysterious to me. Surely you are a mythical creature, or if not mythical, then at least exceedingly rare (and definitely not approximately half the population).
O Woman, your skin is so soft, your breath is so sweet, your eyes are so large (enhanced, as they are, by the cosmetics industry trying to make them soft and sweet and as much like a doe’s or an anime character’s as possible). And behold, you have breasts, wonder of all wonders, and therefore you must be aware of them constantly as you move through your life with them at the helm.
O Woman, I do not wish to pierce the veil of your Mystery. I do not wish to contemplate that you think as I think, that you feel as I feel, that you dream as I dream, and that you bleed as I bleed. It is your tantalizing Difference that attracts me, and therefore must we not be different in many respects?
A Mythical Creature
Because, O Woman, haven’t you heard? The female brain is different, in the essentials, from the male brain. This is because of evolution. It has nothing to do with socialization and our society’s obsession with gender but is one hundred percent about biology.
When you get grumpy, O Woman, I will condescendingly explain that it is PMS. (Even though it could be that you’re hungry, or that you’re tired, or that I’m being a condescending ass.) When I don’t immediately understand your behavior, I will assume it is because of Mystery. (Even though I could instead use my words and attempt to communicate.) And when you are right about something, I will attribute your success to Feminine Intuition. (Even though intuition is a tool used by both men and women in both the Arts and the Sciences, and you may simply be right because of Intelligence.)
O Woman, you are so alluring. You make me do things. You make me lose control. It’s because of the clothes you wear, or maybe it’s the way you smell, or maybe it’s simply because you are mythical and therefore I must Possess you. You are so confusing that your no doesn’t mean no the same way my no means no. Of course not. Your no contains infinite meanings, all of which allow me to experience your Mystery exactly the way I want.
I deserve you, O Woman. You are my promised prize, my reward for existing in a world in which we all suffer. And when you lead, you are bossy, and when you raise your voice, you are strident and shrill. And when you cry, you prove that you are indeed the weaker sex because emotions, as we all know, equal fragility. A real man doesn’t cry, and an unreal man is even more mythical than you.
O Woman, you are so mysterious to me. Let me use your Mystery to make you disappear.
The Practical Free Spirit 
Ooh, caught me right in the gut this morning, Amy.
Oddly enough (or not so oddly, considering the prevalence of this kind of thought in our culture) I was talking about a similar subject with a male friend of mine last night. He wondered why, sometimes, when he smiled at a woman he got this negative vibe, looking away, shoulders hunching, kind of vibe.
I explained to him what women in this culture are often subjected to, this objectification that makes interactions with men (especially stronger, more outwardly ‘typical’ masculine men) a potentially dangerous proposition. Every. Time. Returning a smile could mean carrying on with your day with a slightly lighter heart. Or it could mean getting catcalled and harassed. It’s a roll of the dice. And while I, personally, choose to return that smile, I will never fault the woman who chooses not to.
Brilliant.
Great post. There’s no mystery, no excitement, no allure, no biology. You have successfully deconstructed our gender roles. So reassuring to know that, ignoring a few minor physiological details, we are basically the same underneath.
“Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.”
Oscar Wilde
Yeah, Mr. Wilde and I would disagree on that one.
real thugs only cry when babies die
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