Of Course it's my fault (or the age-old question, Part 1)

By Joe Gerardi

OK, here's an age-old question that it is simply my turn to ask:

What IS it with women?

Why is it that we guys simply can't do anything right regardless of how hard we try? Allow me to digress a moment…

The Amazon (A friend's description of my girlfriend. She's 5'6", 125 pounds and a size 2. Yes, that's right, a size 2, and a perfect size 2 at that. Guys don't understand why I repeated that, but women are gnashing their teeth and hating  her already.) said she was interested in some new things. Clothing things. (That's how we guys describe stuff we don't want to describe.) So, trying to do "the gentleman thing" I offered to get them for her. Faster than it takes light to travel a millimeter, out came the catalog. Yes, THAT catalog. She picked out 2 of them (or is it 4? Mathematically, I can never figure that out.) and I said that I'd order them for her, which I did.

At lunch that day, when I told her that I ordered them, she asked if they were the "racerbacks." They weren't, of course, because I wasn't told they were supposed to be racerbacks. I guess I was supposed to have this information diffuse into me because I was sitting next to her when she was perusing the catalog. Didn't matter. It was still my fault. I call the place back (I personally think it a little overboard that not only do I know the toll-free number, the customer service number, and my account number by heart, from a place that sells stuff that I personally have never possessed.) and ask to exchange them for racerbacks. I was told that I couldn't because the order was already processed, and on the shipping dock, ready to leave. Pretty quick work for 4 hours, but I'll accept that, and the consequences: Get them, send them back and exchange them, and have it all done by overnight delivery because I screwed up by not ordering that which I didn't know what I was supposed to know and never knew. (See why I asked the question at the top of this page?)

Alright: I accept I'm a man. I accept that I'm flawed because of that tragedy. (Though it's not like it's my fault, for pity's sake. Blame my parents, willya?)

So I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

 It's now 17 days later, and they're still not here. I get a letter telling me that I returned one for exchange, and that it's now backordered and won't ship until 9/18/00.

WHAT?

I better call the place, right? I get on the phone, and explain that I'm more confused than a baby in a topless bar, because I never returned them because I never got them, and please help me because I'm only a guy. (See, sometimes we can use that to our advantage and get away with it. You just gotta learn to play the game according to THEIR rules.)

The lady on the phone tells me that there was a clerical error and there really wasn't any in stock in beige, so they had to return one of the two (the other was black) because they had already charged my card. Ok, I can understand that.

Waitaminit!

If it isn't on its way, then I can exchange the… the… wait: Just what DO you call a non-"racerback" version? We guys only have the "Over the shoulder…" rhyme from when we were 12 and discovering these pippins for the first time.

Anyway, I ask if I can exchange it for the racerback. "Sure, " she says. We go through the rigmarole, and it's all settled.

Well, sorta. That one is backordered, too, but only until August 7th. Well, at least that's better than September 18th.

So I done good, right guys?

Nope. (Every guy out there knew that was coming.)

Because, what I didn't know is that she changed her mind about the racerback because it had tiny little embossed hearts on it and she decided she didn't WANT tiny little embossed hearts on it so she decided that she wanted the… the... OTHER type. (See 5 paragraphs above.) So I then get told just to cancel the whole order and forget about it.

So, now I'm to blame again, because I didn't know what I didn't know because I was never told WHAT I didn't know, and then didn't know that I wasn't SUPPOSED to know what I didn't know that I never knew.

Now, only guys will easily understand what I just wrote, but that's only because they've all been there. It isn't something learned, it isn't something passed down from father to son, regardless of race, religion, geographical location, or political ideology, you understand: it's genetically in our makeup because of the last 12,000 years of our simple existence in a world that we cohabit with women

What is it with women?

Sorry, guys. I should never have asked.
 
 

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