An Illusory Intertwingling of Reason and Response

Musings: “Cogitations of an Addled Mind,” one might call it, or “Mr. Toad’s Adventure,” for that matter. Most of what I write stems from a long brooding process, and here I present to you, raw and untamed, the results. (Some musings are on a devotional note, and others are seasonally-oriented.)

Tafel :: musings

Sunday, January 28, 2007

High Standards and Perfect Sisters

I'm told quite often (often enough that it's sure not to be a coincidence) that I'll never get married because my standards are too high. As in, "unrealistic," or "otherworldly." It's not my fault I have perfect sisters. Or a perfect mom, for that matter.

"If you don't stop being so picky," one of my best friends told me, "you're going to die a bachelor."

"There are worse fates than bachelorhood," I replied.

You see, I've lived with intelligent, capable, feminine women my whole life. I'm not willing to put up with stupid (might I steal the phrase "bubble-headed"?), helpless, anti-traditional girls. It just ain't gonna happen.

One of the least attractive things in the world is a dumb girl. Honestly. Who wants someone with half a brain or less hanging off their elbow like some sort of superficially-attractive tumor? (I mean, besides football jocks — by "who" I mean, of course, "who among thinking humans.")

And then one of my (female) friends told me that some girls "play dumb" to attract boys. Well, if they want a boy — an emotionally immature idiot who can't feel self-confident unless the women around him are even dumber than he is — they can help themselves. A pox upon them!

Capability: now there's the rub. I've known girls who wouldn't know which end of the needle to put through the fabric (or who didn't know that the thread goes at the point of a machine needle, but at the top of a hand needle). Now come on there . . . that's just depressing.

What about girls who couldn't boil a pot of water if you turned the stove on for them? Is that supposed to be enticing?

"Go out with me! I can microwave a TV dinner!"

"Ummm . . . no."

If a girl can't out-cook me, well, that's depressing, too. Because I love to cook (and I'm not too incredibly terrible at it either — my momma done learned her son good!) I grew up with home-cooked meals nearly every night of my life, and home-made lunches in my lunch-box. (Breakfast was shift-for-yourself, but, eh . . .) My mom makes ethnic cuisine from any culture you may have heard of (Persian, Chinese, Japanese, Hungarian, German, Norwegian, Jamaican, Portuguese . . .), and one of my sisters makes the best lemon soufflé you've ever heard of. They make fresh strawberry jam once or twice a year (enough to tide us through the non-strawberry season), as well as tomato jam, pies, coffee cakes, (we've never once bought a pre-baked birthday cake), the list goes on.

Now for the skirts. Yes, I know that there's nothing inherently wrong with women wearing pants; in fact, many times it's many times more modest to do so. But what's up with these girls who wouldn't wear a skirt unless [I don't know, insert unlikely event here]? Or girls that cut their hair shorter than I do? (If only for aesthetic reasons, about the only reason for cutting hair short that receives my imprimatur is Locks of Love. Other than that, "Girls, keep your hair on! You're so much prettier that way! Is there something so terribly wrong with girls looking like, well, girls?

Vive la Gibson Girl!

My mom told me (with a bit of a smirk in her voice), "I guess we must have led you to believe that it was realistic to expect that outside of our home."

Well, whatever guys marry my little sisters are getting the type of girl I expect, so I still maintain that it's not too terribly unrealistic.

Just mostly.

Now accepting applications. *grin*