Most of the time I don’t notice. Most of the time it’s not something I consider important or spend time thinking about. I consider myself an enlightened person who chooses to spend his time considering weighty philosophical matters such as ‘Can it ever be a good morning without coffee?’ and ‘Are collards actually edible, or is it all just an elaborate joke that I don’t get?’
Every once in a while a certain realization creeps up on me and whacks me a good one upside the head. It is the realization that while I love them very much, Mrs. RW, the Hobbit, Gnome, and Barbaloot are all girls. It’s not their fault because they were born that way, but it does make it tough on Dad every now and then. I know that you’re all thinking that I’m some chauvinist throwback who doesn’t appreciate the ladies in his life, but I can assure you that this is not the case.
I was reminded of this state of affairs when I was trying to pontificate on the finer points of the bro-hug. The bro-hug is a difficult move to execute correctly, but being able to do so is ridiculously important to being a fully functioning adult man. Come in too hot or flub the handshake and you’ll end up kissing your friend instead of manfully pounding him on the back and you learn the awkward way that he ordered the extra onions on his cheese steak for lunch.
Sure, I could explain to my girls that it is inappropriate to talk in the men’s room or even do anything more than barely acknowledge the existence of other people while in there, but when will they ever need to know that? Or who will I teach the correct way to approach the urinals in the men’s room depending on how many there are and how many are in use?
And before anyone even suggests it, Almost Totally Obscure Internet Bloggers cannot just go around showing Men-In-Training the finer points of bro-hugging or urinal approach. Being a guy is a complex labyrinth of subtle rules and that would most definitely be violating two or three of them.
Still, I can’t get too worked up about it. Not only would doing so be a violation, but it’s just not in me. There are far worse things than this to spend time worrying about. For example, can you even call it a reuben sandwich if it doesn’t have rye bread?