Last week Friday was my son’s appointment with the paeditrician, who had requested to see him for his first birthday. A trip for which we had to drive for approximately 150km, and as luck would have it, it was cold and wet on that fateful morning, a very uncomfortable drive.

Me; Oh wow, Dr Murphy, a new office! More beautiful and spacious than the previous office?!

Dr; Oh yes, thank you. I have always wanted to have this but i had to depend on a man to get it done…..on time. Shhhhhh

Myself, the good Dr and my sister-in-law, whom i had requested to accompany us, had a good and hearty chuckle about that. A topic to which we could all relate to and have fun at the male specie’s expense.

I went on to tell them about the car we had come in, driven for about 150km, in the rain, in the cold, with a toddler on tow, which was without the  left indicator.
A few weeks back, my husband and  I both realised at about the same time that the vehicle’s left indicator was not functioning properly, to which he gave me a long lesson about how it probably came about, and how he will go about fixing it. And I thought to myself, “great, I knew I married an intelligent man. He knows  a thing or two about cars, he even knows how to fix them”. Weeks passed, the problem not being attended, and I not saying anything. On the night before the trip, bold this, the night before the trip, only then he jumps to his feet, tool kit and all, in an attempt to fix the faulty indicator. Long story short, the indicator is still faulty and I had to drive all that way with it.I should have questioned the intelligence though when he only tried to fix it in the dark….Go figure.

Anyway, the good Dr. goes on to explain how she has always requested her husband to do the paint job and all the manly stuff that needed to be done at her office, and when she realised that he was not going to attend to them anytime this century, she stood up and did them herself, and “coincidentally”, that was only when he pulled up his sleeves and dug in, quickly and beautifully at that.

We went on to talk about the beautiful men in our lives;brothers, sons,partners and how they seem to truly, seriously and whole-heartedly operate from “the nothing box”. Now what is the Nothing Box? Its a place where men go when there is absolutely nothing going on inside their head. Jerry Seinfeld once said, “Wanna know what men are thinking about? Nothing. We’re just walkin’ around….lookin’ around.” This happens more often than we men would like to think, or even admit. At times, the Nothing Box serves as a valuable tool to focus on the task at hand.www.jimvaleri.com

NOTHING

Truly? I had never heard of the concept but i was astounded at how appropriate the description was. Men really do operate from the nothing box. They cannot seem to be able to think for themselves most of the time. For them to do anything, which you have requested for the upteenth time, you have to nag some more, which irritates them from here to Timbuktu. I have found that what works for me however is writing a list for him, setting out all the things he should have done months ago,and then sit back, wait and cross my fingers, hoping he attends to them.Sometime this year would really be nice#EyesWideShut#.

My baby boy is a perfect specie of a human being,and my nothing box man and I are going to groom him to be a great man,an oustanding member of society, with the help of God.And I would bet my left nut if i had one, that all parents have the same ideal for their children. But what happens to these lovely manly creatures at the end of the parental lessons? What happens to all those teachings that parents put so much effort in, to make sure they groom the perfect specie of a man?

Could it be that the real response to the why’s and how’s about men, really, really lie in the XY chromosomes. The boy girl genes that separate the boys from the girls? If only that Y had continued well down South East on its path to form a complete X, the world would be a happier, more functional place with all the XX’s running it. #Sigh#Just a thought!

TINA FEY

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