Men Are From Mars

Oh alright, I haven’t even read the book Men are from Mars Women are from Venus. And I don’t even know that what I am writing about has anything to do with men and women and their differences. I like the title though, and it reminds me of a little rhyme we were fond of chanting to boys when I was young. It goes like this: “Girls go to Mars to get more candy bars. Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider.” Ohhh how clever we thought we were – how we showed those boys! Yet, looking back upon it now, I see that perhaps it wasn’t ultra flattering to us girls either – running off to Mars to gobble up candy bars, growing larger and larger with each gleeful bite. Yes, the book title is much better and makes much more sense. Men are from Mars. They are therefore Martians. We women are from Venus. Venus was the goddess of love (I don’t know that, I’m just guessing). So, basically a Martian marries a goddess in our society. There is bound to be confusion in such a relationship. Actually, I think Mars may have been the god of war, but I prefer my Martian interpretation. It sounds more confusing – thereby making the relationship issue more confusing, which is exactly what it needs to be if someone is going to sell a lot of copies of a book about it.

As I mentioned, I’ve not yet read the book, though I own a copy. Perhaps I’ve been waiting for an astronomically large disagreement to occur whereupon we will rush to the book for guidance. We will then sigh with relief and both say, “Whew, so that’s what this was all about! You just think crazy.” Or, maybe I don’t feel particularly confused. Or maybe, I am confused, but prefer to remain that way -- what, after all, must I know about why my Martian wants loads of chickens, canoes and 4-wheelers other than the fact that it is so. Without them he cannot be fully happy. That is plenty to know. Must I also figure out the “why?” Plus, I am not altogether sure I agree with the stereotypes. One I often hear is: Men need to learn that when a woman is talking, she just needs you to listen! She only wants to be heard and does not, under any circumstances, want you to just try and fix her problem. This is not the case for me. I tell you most assuredly that the one thing I want is for my husband to just fix the problem. When I am worried about how to handle a situation with a friend or moaning about a child who just won’t sleep at night, a plain old listening ear is definitely not all I am after. I am after some good old fashioned problem fixing. Perhaps that is what has kept me from the book -- fear that I am not one of the goddesses at all with my unorthodox way of thinking.

Alright, the reason for all of this was just to add a little bulk to what I really wanted to write (because everyone loves a little extra bulk added to any post!). I was thinking of something Mike said to me the other night. I’d just started this blog and had been trying to think of a few things to write about. Then, rather off the blog subject (as I’ve no intention of recording this here), I mentioned that I had never even written about our Wedding day! Mike, who was looking at stuff for sale on the internet (another thing I’m sure I’d understand perfectly if I read the book – but once again, perhaps simply knowing he likes is all the understanding I need) replied, “I keep thinking you’re planning on dying when you keep talking about all this blogging.”

I immediately launched into how I didn’t plan on dying. (Certainly nothing I’ve posted here could constitute my last great words to my children). I began to tell him that it was just that thinking of things to write about had made me realize how many significant life events I have neglected to record. I was well prepared to then have a discussion about how sad it is that time robs us of so many memories. I thought I should reaffirm again that recording things shouldn’t make him think I was going to die, merely that I wanted to remember all the great things I am experiencing.

It turns out all this response was not going to be necessary to calm his troubled mind. He’d evidently realized with in the first word or two out of my mouth that I probably wasn’t going anywhere after all. At least I assume it was something like that because with his next breath he said (pulling me to his side and nodding at the computer screen), “Anyway, I’m just thinkin’ that a full size van with a little extra bling would be pretty nice.” By extra “bling” he meant fancy rims, tinted windows and maybe a little something else I have never paid attention to on a vehicle. I could launch into a whole new discussion about this odd topic, but I realize he is a Martian and I am probably one of the goddesses of love, and at the moment I don’t really need to understand why he wasn’t more concerned about my possible demise. I am just content that he thought I ought to be there at his side when there was a “full size van with a little extra bling” to be admired.