Men tal

How does a man respond to a question posed to you by a woman about the looks of another man?

Coming a close second to ,' Do you think I look fat in this?' is the query ' Is he good looking?'

How the fuck do you expect me to answer that?

I have no clue.

If he owns a beat up truck, throws back 5 pegs of JD after a hard days work, is comfortable in jeans and t shirt, stands up for his friends in their absence and doesn't hit on his friend's wife or sister, is in my book, a great looking guy.

Hell, I would marry him.

You might see a balding, going fat dude but I will see a real man.

In tribute to the dying breed of real men, I would like to dedicate this post to such men. The ones you will miss once you have gotten over the excuse of a man who you have to hide your make up from. The man you have created in your image. The man who is the stand in for your girlfriends.

The metro sexual man. The joke in the tree of our ancestry.

To a Man, his house is his castle and the couch is his throne. He rules the roost from it, he eats sitting in it, is entertained within it and most of the time he also sleeps in it.

In fact to a real man the only friend he has is his couch.

A real man is a mans man. In the midst of his friends, a real man will have a skill that is appreciated by his peers.The spitting champion, the furthest pissing champion, the loudest burp blaster... There will fables about him. Songs will be sung about him. In the midst of his friends, all real men are heroes.

A real man doesn't cry. His lips might tremble but no tears will spill when his cat dies. He will be a rock of solitude when a dear one passes way. Pinching the corners of his eyes with his index finger and thumb to prevent a drop from spilling. Men don't cry.

They only cry for good reasons. Like when their team losses a match or when someone spills a beer.

Men do ask direction. I don't know from where this myth originated that we don't ask direction. We ask directions all the time. We don't ask you for direction. That's because you are more lost than us and moreover if you do know the way, we will never hear the end of it. So we choose to be lost and sane than be found and insane.

Men like being men. They wouldn't have it any other way.Truth is even an inkling of curiosity to be a woman has been killed off by your horror stories of being a woman. I personally would have loved to see how I looked with boobs .

Anyways.

People who knows me always wonder how I walk since I have my foot in my mouth all the time.

My latest exploits involved the below :

This was in Kerala at the IISE. I was talking to Sabriye and an old friend of hers. Both are visually impaired. I was regaling them with a story about the time when I was in Delhi and I offered my seat in the bus to a girl who in turn turned on me as if I had insulted her . So Sabreye enquires : Was she blind? and I say : 'Nah, she was normal.'

Right.

Another incident. Same venue. My younger brother tells Sabriye that I had blogged about her institute. So she asks me what I wrote about. I tell her that I have been really nasty and have written that she runs a tight ship and is called Hitler in campus.

Oh, did I mention she is German?

Someone should just take a gun and put me out of my misery. I doubt if I will ever get invited back there again.