My premise is this: Boys will be boys and men will be boys -- no matter how old they are.
Five, 55 or a 105. It doesn't matter. It never will. They're all just a bunch of rowdy boys.
I suppose it's something only God understands -- being that He's the one who came up with the idea. You know, all the "snakes and snails and puppy dog tails" and Captains Courageous stuff.
Because I certainly don't. Understand, that is. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll ever fully understand the mystery of the human male.
Never miss a local story.
I really don't believe when God made Adam, he stepped back and said, "I can do better than that," and then made Eve. But I do think when man was created, certain crucial elements were left out.
Don't believe me?
A woman once said, "Every day when my husband comes home from work, he goes into the bedroom to change; we usually sit on the bed to talk, while he starts pulling off his work clothes. Every time he takes off his dirty socks he grabs me and rubs his socks in my face. Those dirty, sweaty, smelly, nasty, stinky socks! He's laughing, and I'm screaming. Then after a minute or two, he's done. Tosses them in the hamper, and heads for the shower. It's become a ritual with him. Something he does every single day. I still haven't figured out why."
Maybe it's because he hasn't grown up yet!
Other stories I've heard:
Of boys playing Underwear Man, with briefs and boxers flying around the room, landing in the potted plants, hanging on the chandeliers...
And they're having the time of their life -- playing with dirty underwear.
But just in case you're not convinced...
Have you ever looked through an Army Boot Camp yearbook? Besides all the photos of tough-looking, barely-past-puberty, wanna-be soldiers, there are actual photos of the poor guys after tear gas was sprayed in their faces.
And there's you-know-what coming out of their noses, like a water faucet only green!
I mean, OK, it's part of their training. I understand that. But to take pictures of the snot, and plaster them on page after page in a book that's published and dispersed into civilized society?!?
That's like us homemakers taking pictures of our kids with their heads over the toilet, puking their guts out. It's a part of life, but not everything was meant to be immortalized in pictures and print!
But enough of that.
Other men have a natural, animal magnetism. (I happen to live with a few of those.)
A dog comes nearby and these guys practically turn into dogs themselves. Getting down on all fours with their tongues hanging out of their mouths...
"Hey, buddy, come here. Let's play!"
Then both the animals are rolling around in the dirt/grass/mud having the time of their lives with nary a care in the world. You know, male-bonding time. Man and his dog.
And if you don't believe me, just watch the way they eat, man and dog. They're living, breathing vacuum cleaners! One minute the food is there, and the next minute it's gone. Then they look at me like, "Aren't you going to feed me? I thought you said it was dinner time."
To be continued at my Sun-Star blog: City Girl, Country Life.
Debbie Croft writes about life in the foothill communities. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.