Sometimes I think perhaps life would be a lot easier for us all if we were born with instruction manuals.
These manuals would not include tips on accomplishing the routine and mundane tasks, such as changing diapers and giving baths, but would instead lend us some assistance with understanding how we think.
What exactly goes through our minds? And why? Why don't we all think alike? Why do we become angry at situations that are seemingly invisible to others? What are the real definitions of the words we utter? Of course, it's not always what we say that is so important, but how we say it.
Members of the other gender will never understand.
It seems to be tradition: men cannot understand women, and women cannot understand men. In our own funny way, we try so hard to understand them, and then, in frustration, we simply give up and call them crazy. Or, as ladies, we tell the men they are from the planet Mars, which is a long way to travel without asking for directions.
But those instruction manuals were just not included. Naturally, there would be a mad rush to the bookstore if there were such a thing. And that would mean less stopping for advice-although I must admit I do enjoy stepping in occasionally to listen to people who need some. It makes me feel good to remember that no one is perfect and I feel less lonely in my quest for answers.
Every so often, my brother decides he needs to understand the opposite sex a little better. Of course, these moments are rare. Sometimes he seems to be fairly good at this skill of understanding us ladies, but at other times, he simply overlooks the obvious. This morning, he stopped by the insurance agency where I work, which is not a usual thing for him to do. I saw his face by the doorway before he noticed me, and his expression reminded me of a little puppy pouting. Something was wrong, and I imagined I could guess what it was.
"Wife problems?" I asked, smiling warmly. Being his sister, I always believed I was an authority on him, having grown up with this handsome, fun-loving, brown-haired, brown-eyed boy, who is now at least five inches taller than I am. This should be a piece of cake, I thought, as I said, "Take a seat."
My chair is nothing exceptional. It is a straightbacked, stationary, black plastic body holder - nothing more. There are only two extra chairs in the entire office.
