by Nelson Holmes
Though I don’t count myself a partisan I’m afraid I’m about to wade, clumsily, into the gender wars. For the record I want it known that the epiphany I am about to relate and explain has no root in misogyny nor bias. I believe women are as capable and competent (and conversely, as inept and corrupt) as any man. There is nothing a man can do that a woman can’t and the output of a woman’s labors are of no less value than the similar labors of a man. That being said, I have had an experience that defines the difference in male/female psychology.
I was driving to work one frosty morn in the borrowed, and somewhat ancient, “Minnie Winnie” of a dear female friend. After a mile or so the windshield began to fog up so I pulled and turned the arcane knobs and levers designed to remedy the situation. A sickly whir then accompanied the slow tango of an oily brown dust slowly undulating along the back of the dashboard. I reversed the tug of lever and turn of knob, effectively sending the Genie back to its bottle, but now I was faced with a windshield both fogged and corrupted by clinging dust. Looking about the cab (while trying to discern the road ahead) I found a box of tissues on the dash. I hurriedly grabbed a handful and began trying to clear away the grime when, “what the…?”
The tissues I was using to secure my safety were not of “normal” type. These wipes were the vile, grease infused, variety designed for the moisturizing of delicate nostrils. This brings me to my premise; no man would jeopardize utility for the sake of minor comfort. A man would, at the very least, have a box of dry, generic, unscented tissue tucked up on the dash. Better yet, a roll of paper towels which are the “Swiss Army Knife” of the paper product world. With a paper towel I would have successfully cleaned the windscreen. Paper towels (with a little duct tape) make fine bandages and should I need to fertilize a Piñon Pine in some remote region, the towel will serve yet another purpose. And should I suffer mechanical mishap the paper towel will render my hands clean enough to eat a sandwich or touch the steering wheel: whereas a tissue would likely compound my frustration by creating a linty mess. Women, it seems, are more concerned with dainty comforts and see no problem leaving a box of fru-fru scented, aloe based, nasal lube soaked, paper goods in a place best served by a multi-use product.
I apologize if my rant has offended, but I feel this revelation defines and elucidates a fundamental difference between the sexes. Alas, as I share this knowledge I am aware that, like prior epiphanies of similar type, I will probably find that it would have been best had I simply kept it to myself.