Men Who Care

I’ve been having a rough week. But within the last few days, there have been two men who have made a concerted effort to find out if I’m okay, and they’ve also done an excellent job of trying to make me feel better. I won’t refer to them by name, but they are both Dopers. One phoned me a few days ago–I shall refer to him as P. The other I shall refer to as B.

P: Your call was completely unexpected, but could not have been more beautifully timed. I was having one of the crappiest days of my life, and hearing your voice brought more joy than I could possibly express. Thank you.

B: Thanks for…well, thanks for everything. You know what you’ve done. You know darn well how much I like you, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually told you how much I appreciate you. You’re wonderful.

I make a lot of jokes about men and their funny ways, and I’m sure I’ll continue to do so. But I simply cannot express enough gratitude to these two men who have done so much to make this woman happy, because they care. I am blessed for knowing you two. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Dear Persephone-

I am sorry you are having a bad week, hon. And I am glad that you had such loving support. Sort of warms your heart to know that there such wonderful, loving men in the world. And we have more than our fair share on this board.

((((((Cristi))))))

Scotti

There are a couple of us out there which give us all a goo name and prove to be the exception to the rule.

I’m glad ya hooked up with two of 'em.

I’m glad someone was able to comfort and support you, in this case two someones. Don’t ya just wish we could clone the good ones!

I’m sure this is in “The Manly Man” handbook…here it is…right under the admonition to close the toilet seat.

“No man shall perform an action that harms the reputation of another man or men in general. Every man should strive to act in a manner so that the male gender is looked upon favourably by the female gender.”

I’m guessing not enough men have been reading this part of the handbook.

Sorry ladies… no man is actually allowed to admit to owning this book and I put myself at considerable risk just quoting from our sacred “Manly” texts.

Okay, when I started this thread I had just gotten home from the bar. I was rather buzzed (no, I did NOT drive home), and feeling a bit maudlin.

Now that I’m awake and sober, well, I’ve just got to say that everything in my OP is still very true. Thanks, my friends. I adore you both.

Feynn: My husband occasionally makes vague references to “The BOOK,” but he steadfastly refused to confirm or deny it’s actual existance. Hm. Guess it’s time I did another stealth search of the ol’ sock drawer. :smiley:

Ignore Feynn’s post…he was loopy on cough syrup when he posted that. There is NO such thing as a Manly Man book…and if there was, Feynn would have to be summarily de-pants in public for pulling such a stunt.

That is…if there was such a book…and of course there’s not… :stuck_out_tongue:

Of course, there is a Manly Man book. They used to read excerpts on the radio, here. It was really pretty goofy, however, so I gave my copy to my sister.

Didn’t PJ O’Rourke write the Bachelor’s Home Companion? C’mon, everyone knows about that book.

Chin up, Persephone!

You’re right Dave, it was too much cough syrup. How else would I think of something as silly as the Manly Man Book.

If there was a BOOK do you think I would really be here giving up it’s secrets at risk of breaking rule #… I mean…

What a ridiculous thought, that we men have a secret BOOK.

That will teach me not to OD on cold medication. What was I thinking?

Persephone, you really don’t need to go rummaging around the sock drawer looking for an imaginary book that doesn’t exist.

Like anyone would hide the BOOK (if it existed) in a sock drawer. What kind of moron would leave something like that (if it existed) where a woman could find it?

Okay, I have to go now.

I need to re-arrange my socks.

I tore the pages out and made paper airplanes out of mine.

As I was um, rearranging my husband’s sock drawer, I realized that there weren’t very many socks in there, so that meant I needed to do some laundry.

SO, I went downstairs to do laundry, and I realized that the basement was a mess. I just knew the underside of the washing machine hadn’t been cleaned, ever.

SO, I flip the washer over. I saw the most amazing thing–a package, wrapped in ancient paper, taped to the bottom of the washer with duct tape.

SO, I start to open the package. Guess what?

Thunder and lightning started crashing around my basement. All the lights in the house went dark. Great shrieking harpies arose from the sump pump, howling and swirling around me.

A giant crack opened up in the floor, a great wind burst forth, and whatever it was I had uncovered was swept from my hands down in to the abyss.

Never did see what was in the package. But I’m going back down there later tonight with the pickaxe and rapelling equipment I bought at Sports Authority on the way home from work. I’ll let you know.

Just remember, Feynn, don’t talk about Fight Club.

Doh!

No, that can’t be The Book. It’s probably the book of the dead. And if there’s one thing we’ve learned from the movies (most notably the Evil Dead series and, most recently, The Mummy), it’s that you should never read from the book of the dead.

So you’d better just leave it alone. :slight_smile:

Yeah right toots…is that before or after we find out why women REALLY go to the bathroom in packs? :smiley:

C’mon, men care!

… care about getting me another beer, bitch! Damn, another testosterone outburst!

Okay, after I maneuvered down the molten lava that had become my staircase (boy, that T-Fal cookware is something else!), I was faced once again by the harpies. I told them to go piss up a rope–I’m PMSing and they did NOT want to cross me. They left.

I rapelled down the abyss. I saw a little outcroppy-thing, and the package was resting on it. I snagged it quite easily, stuck it into my daughter’s Blue’s Clues backpack (hey, I said I was PMSing–I forgot to get myself a backpack when I got the rapelling equipment), and start climbing back up.

I get to the top, and start to climb out. But there’s someone in my way. He’s big. Really freakin’ big. And he’s got cloven hooves.

“Whatcha got there?” he says, surprisingly politely, considering he’s a Demon From The Pits Of Hell. “Not sure yet,” I reply. “Care to give me a hand out of this abyss?”
“Sure,” he says, and he helps me up.

“I know what it is you’ve got,” he says, a bit more sternly, but not really evil. “It’s your great-grandfather’s copy of ‘The Manly Man Handbook.’”

“Really?” I reply. “Saaaaweeeeet! A vintage copy!”

“Uh, you know you can’t read that, don’t you?” he says, a little hesitantly.

“Why not?” I say. “I’ve got a husband and a son. Shouldn’t I know what makes them weird?”

“Listen, have a heart,” he pleads. “I can’t actually take that copy from you–each book has it’s own owner. And although sometimes your husband thinks that you and I are related, I can state with certainty that we’re not. Why don’t you give it to your husband for safekeeping until your son gets old enough?” Tears start to form in his eyes.

That made me change my mind right there. I mean, how could I read this thing, when Beelzebub himself was begging me not to?

I sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it to my husband,” I said. “But can I ask you a question?”

He dabbed his eyes with his pointed tail. “Anything, ma’am.”

“Why do you care?” I asked. “You of all people, who thrives on chaos and discord?”

He shrugged and smiled. “Hey, I’m a guy too.”

I laughed. He started to disappear in a puff of smoke, but stopped. “Oh, and since you’ve been so kind, be sure to tell that Totoro wanker that I said I’ve got his beer right here.” He grabbed his crotch, then he vanished.

The lava had cooled somewhat, making it much easier for me to climb the stairs. When I got to the top, I turned to survey the damage. Aw, shit, I thought to myself. I won’t have any trouble convincing Tim that this all happened, but there’s just no way I’m gonna be able to get this past the insurance company.

Okay, after I maneuvered down the molten lava that had become my staircase (boy, that T-Fal cookware is something else!), I was faced once again by the harpies. I told them to go piss up a rope–I’m PMSing and they did NOT want to cross me. They left.

I rapelled down the abyss. I saw a little outcroppy-thing, and the package was resting on it. I snagged it quite easily, stuck it into my daughter’s Blue’s Clues backpack (hey, I said I was PMSing–I forgot to get myself a backpack when I got the rapelling equipment), and start climbing back up.

I get to the top, and start to climb out. But there’s someone in my way. He’s big. Really freakin’ big. And he’s got cloven hooves.

“Whatcha got there?” he says, surprisingly politely, considering he’s a Demon From The Pits Of Hell. “Not sure yet,” I reply. "Care to give me a hand out of this abyss?
“Sure,” he says, and he helps me up.

“I know what it is you’ve got,” he says, a bit more sternly, but not really evil. “It’s your great-grandfather’s copy of ‘The Manly Man Handbook.’”

“Really?” I reply. “Saaaaweeeeet! A vintage copy!”

“Uh, you know you can’t read that, don’t you?” he says, a little hesitantly.

“Why not?” I say. “I’ve got a husband and a son. Shouldn’t I know what makes them weird?”

“Listen, have a heart,” he pleads. “I can’t actually take that copy from you–each book has it’s own owner. And although sometimes your husband thinks that you and I are related, I can state with certainty that we’re not. Why don’t you give it to your husband for safekeeping until your son gets old enough?” Tears start to form in his eyes.

That made me change my mind right there. I mean, how could I read this thing, when Beelzebub himself was begging me not to?

I sighed. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it to my husband,” I said. “But can I ask you a question?”

He dabbed his eyes with his pointed tail. “Anything, ma’am.”

“Why do you care?” I asked. “You of all people, who thrives on chaos and discord?”

He shrugged and smiled. “Hey, I’m a guy too.”

I laughed. He started to disappear in a puff of smoke, but stopped. “Oh, and since you’ve been so kind, be sure to tell that Totoro wanker that I said I’ve got his beer right here.” He grabbed his crotch, then he vanished.

The lava had cooled somewhat, making it much easier for me to climb the stairs. When I got to the top, I turned to survey the damage. Aw, shit, I thought to myself. I won’t have any trouble convincing Tim that this all happened, but there’s just no way I’m gonna be able to get this past the insurance company.

Whoops. Sorry about the double post. The sulfur must have made me a little woozy.

Persephone descends into the underworld. How… appropriate.