A Hex on the Sexes

I am in a state of bewilderment. And if there are any male bloggers out there who would care to enlighten me, I'd be very grateful as I get nowhere fast with my own Caveman.

I realise that women have the most inordinate amount of daft foibles, such as nicking all the miniature toiletries from hotel rooms, including the shower cap, which we wouldn't be seen dead in; saving plastic bags 'because they always come in handy'; recycling old T-shirts for dusters; and promising to make chicken soup from the Sunday Roast carcass (which generally sits there until it gathers the cure for HIV in our kitchen).

My list of enigmas surrounding the less-fair sex include the following:

• Not getting your hair cut
• Not shaving and thinking snogging 3-day old stubble is a turn-on (when really it just ribbons your chin)
• Not clearing out your skanky underpants which are full of holes and splits
• Ditto with socks
• Never finishing a DIY job which they have set about with great enthusiasm and then walked away from for a cup of tea, never to return...

So, let's take point 1. Getting the hair cut. My husband is currently trialling a brand product for me called Fast Hair. Prior to this, he trialled Nisim. We are having great success with both products as, previously a rather follicly challenged individual, he is now giving Fabio a run for his money. Unfortunately, Mr P's golden tresses don't lend themselves to the GHDs like Fabio's (not that I would want them to, either, I hasten to add); they tend to sort of 'spiral' out at odd angles. Over the last two weeks he has been called anything from Samson, to Tintin, to, this morning, #1 accused him of sporting a jaunty Afro. Mr P claims she doesn't know what one is. I put him straight...

After repeated nagging, and threats this morning to cut it for him...even going so far as to get the comb, kitchen scissors and a towel out, when he called my bluff (and you really don't want to do that, as I will always rise to the bait), he realised It Was Time. It took a grand total of 20 minutes and he was back. Not too hard, was it?

Point 2. Now, I must admit, a bit of stubble can sort of 'do it' for me from time to time (unless it is ginger and then I would rather view raw offal: Viking heritage and virility, or not). And so this is a bit of a mealy-mouthed complaint. It looks good on certain chaps, but it doesn't feel good on my face. I vividly recall the first snog I had after having been in the wilderness for a few months last year. He hadn't shaved and nearly ripped my delicate skin off. For three days, I sported scabby scratches down my chin which itched and caused me to pick incessantly (I am a dreadful spot-picker). So, while it looks good, it feels awful and I prefer babies' bums to bristly bears' arses...

Point 3. Not getting rid of your skanky pants. Why? Why is it such a comfort to have your testicles poking through an unfeasibly small hole, which strangulates the scrotum, wrecks chances of fertility, looks like a turkey's neck and must be uncomfortable? Surely? I have never known a man to get rid of his undies. I have had to do it for him...albeit very surreptitiously, under cover of darkness, wearing a disguise and bolstering my side of the bed with pillows and a dark wig. There are then the inevitable questions:

Where are my pants? 

Which ones? 

You know, those black ones. 

What, the ones with the dirty big holes in the crotch? 

They're not holes, they're ventilation shafts...

Check under the kitchen sink. I think I used them to wipe up the last dose of cat pee from the kitchen floor.

Point 4. Socks. I don't even pretend with these. I just tear them up in front of any man and tell them they are not Robin - 'Holy Socks, Batman!' It just befuddles me. 

Now, admittedly, I have socks from years and years ago, which are still doing me proud...but "I iz vumman". I wear stockings, hold-ups, tights etc most of the time, so my socks don't get a daily wear and tear...thus they can last me for years...unlike aforesaid nylons which only seem to grace my legs for an hour and then they are laddered. As my clear nail polish has gone hard, I cannot really dab the 'ladder' with chocamocha and walk round with what look like carcinogenic melanoma all over my legs...

Point 5. Never finishing a DIY job. The amount of times I have had to stalk through the house bearing arms such as hammers, Phillips screwdrivers, hacksaws and nails is beyond comprehension. And this has gone on since time immemorial, so don't think I am Parnsip-baiting here. 

But just a little bit of Parnsip-baiting for you Parnsip-baiter fans...he took the side of the bath off about 8 months ago to get at the taps. The screw covers have never been replaced and are shoved, in a margarine tub, behind the bathroom door...

It took three months for the shower power point to be sealed up - after he had removed it, and left the wires hanging freely, he walked away and got cracking on something else instead.

Yet, he put up the best fence panelling known to man! He and a friend, Phil, got cracking one Saturday, tore down the kindling which was our boundary fence, dug the holes, inserted the concrete posts, and erected 16 panels of Waney Lap. They were both crocked by the end of it, admittedly, and could hardly stand. But during the most recent high winds, they have stood firm and fast, like the Old Man of Hoy. So, I am not moaning there, either...

Is it the League of Gentlemen? Does a Caveman need another Caveman in order to show off his prowess to complete something? Not exactly 'penis-envy'. Fence-envy? Nah...that doesn't work, either...

Anyway, I am still as flummoxed as ever, so I would appreciate some guidance in these matters. Once I am enlightened, I can nip out with my club and pummell a passing dog to spit-roast for my very own Mr. Ug.