One of the reasons I envy men is that they have such low expectations — they are almost never disappointed. Like with the girl they thought had eyes only for them and then realised she was making eyes at all and sundry and eventually wound up with Mr Moneybags. Or siblings who don’t call or show up except when it suits them, group text when they are breaking up or making up, but knock violently for help when they are broke. Or when the BFF is going through a separation and they are the last one to know. Or when the colleague in the next cubicle is being treated for alcoholism and they didn’t even know he drinks, forget having an alcohol problem. Or when the driver announces his wife had a baby and they had no clue he was even married.
"What you don’t know cannot hurt you" seems to be the motto, and this minimalistic approach works rather nicely and leaves their head to process other important matters. Like sport. And more sport. And some more sport. And beer. More beer. And some more beer. That’s it. Their inbox is full. No more requests can be processed.
So if your ceiling is caving in or the maid has run away or the building is going in for redevelopment, well, it would be too much information for them to deal with after battling the world and its serpents at work.
If women wanted to be truly happy and blissed out, they need to start thinking like men. Rather ‘not thinking’ like men. I practised it for a while and it really worked. Except I am too curious a mind not to wonder why Mr G and Ms K seem like an item when her boyfriend is away. Or why is Mr D still throwing parties for his ex-wife’s birthday. Or why do Mr and Mrs T always walk in separately to parties and leave separately, even though they are necking each other wildly while in it. The things alcohol can do!
And then the husband claims that I have taken over his friends, that his best friends are not his best friends any more, that he never knows what’s happening because no one tells him anything. Yes, why would they? I talk to them, remember? And when was the last time you called or texted them except to exchange opinions on football?
Which is why, at the end of a hard day, men break down when having to process something as simple as their mother’s pan card while women are going on about dealing with far larger catastrophes with elan.
So maybe I am not meant to reach that Zen state where the husband is at regarding friends and family, but then who can bear the unbearable lightness of Zen?