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FOR MEN ONLY: Sometimes A Mouth Can Over-ride a Butt
This is a "real" handy man
GUESS WHICH ONE OF THESE MEN "ARE" REAL HANDY MEN
It happens to almost all men at one time or another.
I’m a living testimony to the truth in this statement.
It’s a low-down pity to admit such a male failing here in print so millions of HubPages readers can feel the shame I have felt over the years for not being “the” complete man.
Just what is “the” complete man in definitive terms? To most, and I do mean well-schooled on this one subject, “the” complete man can work endless hours without tiring; fulfill the needs of his family, plus holding down a 75-hour a week job, and lastly and most-importantly, make his wife to be the happiest, most-satisfied woman on the block. Shoot! In the neighborhood.
“The” complete man knows how to be strong, sensitive, caring and courageous without any lessons from anyone and always on-time with each feeling. That, ladies and gentlemen, is someone else’s definition of “the” complete man.
I have some heart-breaking news for you. There is no such animal as “the” complete man. I am not kidding. You have a choice of taking my word on this, or believing some high-brow magazine whose writers haven’t set foot out in real life in the 22 years that they have been employed by this noted magazine that read my zillions of subscribers.
Now to really put “the icing on the cake,” there “are” a whole lot of confused men walking around in broad-open daylight with some false-mindset working on them. And friends, this is so sad. This mindset has actually brainwashed these poor guys into believing that just because their mom’s said they were “the” complete man, and when they were dating their future wives, the girls made a mild error in agreeing with their mom’s on them, the men, being “the” complete man. The “apple of their eyes.” The girls, not their mom’s in this instance.
These guys’ moms are not the only ones to blame for their misguided thinking. There are a lot more people to bear the blame. Namely their dad’s, who agreed with their mom’s just so they could have a weekend fishing trip with the guys, high school football coaches whose motto for life was, “men, be men. Always be men. You cannot be beat. You can do anything you want. Anything!”
Then there are their ministers who out of sheer love of God and these guys would lend encouragement with every opportunity afforded them. So you see. It is really not the guys’ fault. He just lumbers along through life. Graduates from college with a renewed mindset of “men are invincible,” and after one or two rejections, goes to work for his uncle “Todd,” his mom’s only brother who owns a gas station and shoe repair store all rolled into one.
Uncle “Todd,” does his part to throw-down a compliment to our mal-educated man when he manages to accurately pump ten-dollars worth of supreme gasoline into a customer’s car and turns to uncle “Todd,” who has been staring out of the front window to make sure the job is done correctly just to get “Todd’s” approval. “Way to go, sport!” “Todd,” says in a dry, memorized tone.
But the "complete" guy who has fed (over the years) on compliments and positive-reinforcement, laps up “Todd’s” compliment like a hungry Beagle in from a night of hunting in some backwoods area near Fulton County, Georgia.
(NOTE: No, that is not the theme for “Deliverance,” you hear playing. Just wanted to calm you down so you wouldn’t leave before you finished my story. Kenneth).
Then it happens. Our guy, “Mr. Man of Steele,” “Mr. Can Do Anything,” meets and marries the first girl who gives him a second look, and the time of day. Her name is “Margie.” “ Margie Gail Goodweather,” a 32-year old college professor with a Master’s Degree in Early French Anthropology with a Minor in Social Government.
“Margie,” has not lived the life of a “wall flower.” No sir. She has been quite the “popular girl” around town, but in a discreet manner. “Margie” is instantly-taken with our “complete” man with his beaming smile, white teeth, broad, hulking shoulders and eyes so blue that they look like the creeks in eastern Tennessee with water so pure that you can get a drink from them. When there are no fresh-water fish around.
Our “complete,” man dates “Margie,” for two months, this time span does include meeting “Mr. and Mrs. Goodweather,” who are equally-taken with him, and before long, “complete” man pops the question.
“Margie,” for some moment, has that one lapse of judgement and says yes. Why, is still a mystery to her college sorority sisters and close friends who are really happy for “Margie,” but thought she would marry her college boyfriend, “William “Big Bill” Fowler,” a yes man in every respect, but his number one redeeming quality was his parents were ungodly wealthy, and “Margie’s” girlfriends all swore that “Margie,” could look beyond “William’s” shortcomings--thinning hair, bad eyesight, and a severe case of shyness and live a life of comfort and happiness.
Everyone, smart or not so smart, makes “that one” fatal mistake in their life and “Margie” will soon find out just what a mistake she made in saying yes too fast when “complete” man asked her to be his wife.
Another thing might be blamed for “Margie” marrying “complete” man so quickly was when she saw him working for his “uncle Todd.” Poor, trusting “Margie,” she thought that he was doing his uncle “Todd,” a favor and helping him when he was short-handed. Needless to say that even with “Margie’s,” high IQ, she wasn’t mentally-flawless.
After a few sincerely-happy months as man and wife, “it” happens. “It,” the terror of all men. And I mean all men everywhere.
Just the whispered-mention of “it” can bring trembling to the stoutest of men. Make Jell-O out of professional athletes and send some weak-minded men into lives of deep, dark depression--with their only time in daylight is to visit their local liquor store to stock-up on strong booze to numb the pain that “it” gave them on that one romantic night years ago.
Oh, the memory is too painful for these guys to deal with. Most of these men who are now just unshaven faces in the alleyways and whiskey always on their breath. Sad, I tell you. Sad.
And now in a few twinkles of a moment, “Margie,” is about to find out about how incomplete her “complete” man really is.
I don’t know if I can bear to finish this story or not. Just pray for me. It was a perfect day for “complete” man, now the husband of “Margie,” a happier-than-a-seagull at a clam bake woman. No one, not even Albert Einstein or Gandhi could have asked for or designed such a memorable day for this happy couple.
Their picnic went off without a hitch. No ants whatsoever could be found. And the weather was ideal for an outing for any newlywed couple.
Even the drive back home to their picturesque house that would be right at home on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens, was perfect.
Some couples, I might inject a modicum of my own thinking here, would have sacrificed all of their money, success and happiness to have a day that “Margie,” and “complete” man had just enjoyed.
Upon arriving home, “Margie,” told “complete” man that she was going to shower upstairs and then relax while painting her toenails and he could unload their BMW that was given to them by her dad and mom. “Complete” man agreed with a smile on his face for her knew that when “Margie,” painted her toenails that was a signal for a night of wedded-bliss and passion that couldn’t be measured.
With the BMW unloaded, “complete” man started to relax in the living room in front of their 72-inch plasma television to watch the latest installment of SportsCenter. “man,” “complete” man said to himself. “have I got it made or what?”
If only “complete” man could have known what series of events were about to happen, he might have chosen his words a bit more wiser. As John Anderson, one of ESPN’s talented sportscasters began to talk about a recent trade in Major League Baseball between the Atlanta Braves and San Diego Padres . . .”it” happened.
Oh if only “complete” man could have just sat still in his recliner when he heard these words, “lovie, dear lovie man, could you come here and fix the table on my dresser?” his lovely and (sometimes) manipulative “Margie,” cooed.
Like a highly-trained bloodhound let loose on the trail of a convict who had escaped from a chain gang in olden times down in Georgia, “complete” man burst into a run up the winding staircase to where “Margie,” was sitting in the chair in front of her dresser. Her Shirley Temple smile was now a frown. She was so sad about the one leg of her antique dresser being loose, that she was almost in tears.
“oh, there, there, hun! I got this,” “complete” man said with a gust of confidence in his voice. “just let me go to my workshop in the basement and get my tool kit and I’ll have that dresser leg fixed in a flash.” Yeah, and I am dating Susan Sarandon behind my wife’s back.
Seconds passed. “Margie,” didn’t have time to grow impatient. “I’m back, sweetie weetie,” “complete” man said trying hard to look like legendary body-builder, Charles Atlas.
“ohhh, my fixer-upper, lover man to the rescue,” “Margie” gushed as she continued to paint her toenails. “not a problem. I am proud as a young male peacock to do this, and “everything” that you ask,” “complete” man said as he rifled through his tool kit to get the right tools for the job at hand.
(NOTE: for time and space concerns, I jump ahead a few hours. Three to be exact. Kenneth).
“dearie, are you sure that you can fix the leg?” “Margie” said trying to stay awake for it was now one in the morning. “whattt? You bet your pretty, tiny waist that I can fix this leg,” “complete” man said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
More time passed. Impatience, that cruel beast, had set in to gnawing on “Margie’s” nerves. “well, can you fix it or not? Just tell me if you can’t and I’ll get my poppie to fix it tomorrow,” “Margie” said with a slightly-hateful tone to her usually-soft, feminine voice.
“complete” man lay on his stomach exhausted from hours in the floor wrestling with a tiny dresser leg that defied and defeated every tool he had used to remove it so he could fix the small crack that was showing.
“complete” man had finally met his match. But being a “complete” man, his male bravado would not allow him the ease of just admitting that he was unable to fix this menacing dresser leg.
What would his late grandpa “Lester,” and grandma “Lessie,” think of he admitted defeat to his young wife? “complete” man saw his life flash before his eyes. His nerves were shot, hands trembling from exhaustion and his mind out of ways to fix this problem for “Margie,” who was now laying across the bed staring down at his sweaty back while she took long breaths to show him how disappointing she was with his mediocre handyman efforts.
Finally, around daybreak, “complete” man rose from the floor only to find “Margie,” snoozing like a baby in a cradle lined with fine silk. “hun, wake up,” he said. “I’ve some news for you about your dresser leg.” “Ohhh, you perfect man! What a great husband you are--fixing anything I find that is broken! I love . . .” “Margie’s” hurrah’s for her “complete” man were interrupted by “complete” man.
I give “complete” man some credit here. He didn’t admit total-defeat right away. He used these believable excuses as to why he couldn’t fix the dresser leg:
- The light was bad. He didn’t have the right screwdriver.
- His old football injury in his back was acting up.
- The dresser was in the wrong place. He didn’t want to scratch the dresser.
- He was not going to wake his wife out of the deep sleep that she had needed for weeks.
- The wood knife slipped and almost cut a gash in his left hand and he might have to see their family doctor to make sure that there isn’t a splinter in his hand.
- The dogs barking across the street distracted him.
- The phone rang a lot of times while his wife was asleep, but it was only a series of wrong numbers.
- He is going to visit the local tech college to borrow the right tool to fix the dresser leg.
You see, “complete” man acted on the instincts that he was taught from youth up on what to say when he was facing a failure or had really failed miserably at something he knew nothing about.
Just look at all the time he wasted in trying to do something he knew going in was going to be a disaster.
If our hero, “complete” man had just inspected the problem and turned to “Margie,” and said, “dear, I am not that experienced in that type of work. I do apologize and I will get someone to fix it as soon as the “fix-it” shops open,” but he didn’t.
“Complete” man was afraid if he admitted to his wife that he was not “complete,” but just a flesh and blood mortal who needed to learn such things, their night would have been a whole lot better.
The morale? “Complete” man ended up buying “Margie” a brand-new dresser due to the cracks and scratches he made in it while trying to fix it for his new bride.