This morning, right after Hannah woke up, she spotted her black, shiny "Sunday Shoes," and decided that she needed to wear them . . . Now! She proceeded in an attempt to put the things on her feet, but because they have tiny little buckles, and she's three-years-old with the fine motor skills that "3" entails, she was having trouble getting them on. So, she screams, "Mama! I CAN'T get my princess shoes on!" I was trying to go about doing other things, getting her breakfast being one of those things, so fancy foot wear was among the least of my concerns. "Hannah," I said, "I don't think you need princess shoes to eat breakfast." I got, "YES, I DOOOOOOOOO. I NEED MY PRINCESS SHOES, NOW!" This was followed by kicking and copious tears. Then, my response, "Why is this so important to you? It makes no sense whatsover!" Of course, I know that Hannah is a child, and that she's pretty much ruled by her emotions, so however irrational and futile her requests may seem to me, they're important to her. So, I often have to take a deep breath, count to ten, and remember that I'm not dealing with an adult, and to act accordingly . . . As I did earlier this morning.
Then . . . I rather sheepishly remembered a request of my own that I made not too long ago. I said, "Just call me and tell me that you're too tired and don't want to talk to me right now." Oh, my. And, the point of that would be . . . ? Yeah. I know. Give me my princess shoes. NOW.
I'm thinking of a scene in "As Good As it Gets," where the Jack Nicholson character is asked by a young woman, "How do you write women so well?" With his characteristic smirk, Jack responds, "I think of a man, then I take away reason and accountability." Okay, Jack, yeah, you're funny. Hardy-har-har. But . . . Sometimes I wonder. Am I goverened to a ridiculous extent by my varying emotions? Sometimes. Yes. I must be. Otherwise, things like the above mentioned request just wouldn't come out of my mouth. Hindsight informs me of the stupidity of some of my actions, and sometimes I learn things that inform my future actions, but what about foresight? Shouldn't I be able to think before I say certain things, "Why is this so important to you? It makes no sense whatsoever!" No. Probably not. Not always, anyway. I suppose that I've answered my own question. Yes. Sometimes I am ruled by my emotions, and I make irrational requests, draw unreasonable conclusions, and only realize my mistakes later. Ugh. So, yeah. The Jackie quote is probably more true than I want it to be. It's humbling for me to think that for men, sometimes (only SOMETIMES!) dealing with my sex can be more than a little like me dealing with my toddler, but I'll own the truth in that, if, in fact, such is the case.
Now, I know that I can't entirely change my stripes, but I don't have to mix them with polka-dots, or . . . Something like that. Knowledge is half the battle, but only HALF. If, in fact, this is one of the more inconvenient things that just comes with being female (I guess there has to be a certain price to pay for the super powers; reading minds, making babies, multi-tasking, etc.) there's only so much I can do to change the situation. If my conclusion is correct, than this is a thing that's woven into my very nature. It's part of my freakin' DNA.
So, to the men, I have this simple advice. Try to remember that when irrationality takes hold of your beloved lady friend, wife, mother, sister, etc., that it's a little like when you were a kid and were afraid of the thing under your bed, in the closet, lurking outside of your window, etc. Objectively, the thing wasn't real in the least, but you thought it was real, so the fear was entirely real. That irrational horror felt just as authentic as it would have if you had been confronted face to face with a machete wielding maniac in a hockey mask. Try to be kind to a certain extent. I'm not saying that we get carte blanche, and never should be held accountable for our "crazy girl stuff." Hardly. Call us out on the stupid shit that we pull, but, at the same time, try to be a little sensitive to our shortcomings. God knows, we sure as hell are to yours.
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