MEN ARE FROM MARS...

...women are from the Andromeda frickin’ Galaxy.

There are times when She Who Must Be Obeyed and I are so close, that it seems we are two souls in a single body. (And I’m not talking about those times, ya filthy-minded pervert. Dat’s poisonal!) We’ve been married so long, we think the same things, finish each other’s sentences, know each other’s innermost heartfire, share each other’s dreams.

And then something will come along to remind me that Men is Men and Wimmin is Wimmin. And we is Different.

We were in a local Tchotschke Emporium this afternoon, picking up a few gifts for SWMBO’s colleagues, when Milady espied an especially fine Tchotschke. It was a little rocking chair, about 18 inches high, upholstered in various corduroy and gingham fabrics, with little snowman faces at the ends of the armrests. “Isn’t this the cutest thing!” SWMBO practically squealed.

Yeah, suuuure, honey. I’d rather drive a tenpenny nail into my right eye than to ever own a piece of kitschy shit like that. Just being within ten paces of it made me feel like Superman after Lex Luthor has slipped a chunk of Kryptonite into his shorts. Yeeesh. Even if I am the kind of guy who mistakes a football-shaped hibachi for a brown egg (true, dat), I have enough lead in my pencil to Avoid the Upholstered Rocking Chair Tchotschke.

And it occurred to me right then and there: The Olympics Committee could save a lot of money on that genetic testing they do to check out whether that brutish-looking female weightlifter really has the ol’ Double-X chromosome set. All they have to do is Show the Tchotschke, and if Nadia Pickafuckwadofsteelplatesup squeals and says “Oooohhh, dot’s cute!” then they know she’s a real, 100% girl. Even if she looks like Magilla Gorilla.

I feel like smoking a cigar right now... just to get the sight of that alien horror out of my mind. Little snowman faces!