This commentary is not politically correct. It may offend some listeners, and here’s my response: I’m going to do it anyway because this commentary is for the greater good.
Here we go.
The topic of men vs women has been discussed for ages, but I am going to offer my insight in a way that I think will help many listeners, especially the men because what I’ve discovered is, frankly and in all humility, brilliant.
My wife was napping in front of the TV, came out of her sleep and sat up talking. There was no stirring, no slow transition into wakefulness, no gradual beginning of a conversation. She woke up, sat up, and started talking in the same moment. I was fascinated and, frankly, a bit alarmed, but it led me to this:
When it comes to communication – and notice I’m not talking about content here, just the act of talking – at birth, each man on planet earth is given a set number of words to say every day. A limit. A restriction. Each male’s number is different. Some have piles of words, others have few. And, most importantly, when they hit their number, they’re out. The restriction kicks in, and they simply can’t talk after that. They’re out of words.
Women, though, are born with an hourly quota they must hit. And if they don’t hit their quota, it rolls into the next hour, a kind of penalty, and they can’t sleep until their hourly quotas for the day are met. Naps don’t count, which explains why my wife came out of her nap talking – she had a number to hit and would be penalized in the next hour if she didn’t hit it.
Now, let’s bring this concept into our daily lives, and this is easy to imagine: A wife asks, “Honey, how was your day?” He says, “Fine.” “What happened?” she says. “Not much.” He offers nothing. Why? He’s out of words. He used them all up during his busy day. He’s at his limit. He’s helpless.
She, however, needs to talk. She has an hourly number to hit. She’s got work to do, so she talks a LOT about her day while he remains silent. They’re both having to operate within their gender restrictions, each helpless to their circumstance.
My wife, you should know, is not a fan of my theory. I explained it to her one night, and she won’t accept that I could be out of words, and she let me have it, talking on and on about how it was sexist and wrong, and that she wants to know how I feel and needs to me to be more empathetic and on and on. Until she stopped talking, climbed into bed, and tuned out the lights.
Her final hourly quota for the day met, it was time to sleep, recharge and get ready to chase her quotas the next day. Bingo.
I’m Cam Marston, and I’m just trying to keep it real.
