“Yeah yeah it’s nice sweetie but NOT NOW I’m talkin’ sport with the boys.”
Guys being guys. These little tykes aren’t too dissimilar to the way me and my friends talk about sports. It almost never is a back-and-forth, cohesive conversation that has an introduction, supporting details, and conclusion, but rather all of us just barking the stats we know at each other to impose our sports knowledge superiority over one another. Because it’s not what you know, it’s how loud you say it. Also, one of us is likely to steer the conversation off the rails and make a personal insult at a friend who just made a salient point.
“The Steelers are so hot right now.”
“Not as hot as your sister. Who I banged.”
“Dude, she’s 16.”
But in our defense, as men, we are hard-wired to pretend we have answers to questions we don’t have answers to, to guarantee the unknown. I just moved in with my girlfriend and realized that she thinks I’m fucking Tim ‘The Toolman’ Taylor. She asked me to put up shelves last weekend–3 hours, 4 YouTube videos, 2 calls to my dad, and 1 hole punched in the wall later, I hung two uneven shelves. I don’t know but I must have tripped up somewhere along the way and given her the impression that I’m some kind of man or something. Next year she’s going to think I’m cocksure enough to cut down our Christmas tree. Can’t wait to fake my chainsaw knowledge and accidentally cut off my scrotum. Hell, at least I won’t have to pretend like I’m something I’m to anymore.
I’m just realizing that this entire blog had absolutely nothing to do with the video I posted, but sometimes writing my insecurities for a bunch of strangers to see helps me save on therapy.