BANISHMENT 7: The 'I'm Fine' Complex

So today I was talking on the phone to Handsome Thunder. We have this tradition where he calls me on his way home from work and we talk about things like the value of corndogs to the American spirit, how Olympic-like we are at Nerf basketball, and, of course, the importance of the protestant reformation.

We were having a lovely conversation sans awkward pauses when all of a sudden something rubbed me the wrong way. Straight away, my voice got very distant, as though I was whispering all the way from Serbia, and instead of laughing and/or arguing voluptuously as I had throughout the entire conversation, I began answering his questions in short stubs. Lincoln logs of sentences that were not particularly sturdy or sincere.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately sensing that I had departed the Land of Jolly for the Island of Crappy Mood.

And while this question gave me plenty of time and room to say what I actually thought, I instead thought it would be wiser to commit the cardinal sin of femaledom:

“Nothing,” I replied. “I’m fine.”

For some reason, pretty much every woman I know has the same genetic defect. We have unreasonably high, peculiar expectations, and we believe that everyone who surrounds us, particularly our significant others, should be mind readers. We expect them to understand without us ever having to talk. I suppose we think our neurotic minds are very simple and that our body language and tone says it all. But the truth is, the female mind is often more windy than a game of Shoots and Ladders. And men, bless their hearts, don’t work in pastels. They just want the primary colors.

Let me put it this way. Men/women relationships are pretty much like Christopher Columbus on his first exploration. He didn’t have a map. No one really told him where he was going. So when his ship hit ground, he claimed he was exactly where he was supposed to be: India. Had someone simply told him that India was the total opposite direction, he could have remedied the fault. As it were, he was merely thousands and thousands of miles off. 

Men, poor dear things, are found all too often in similar situations. Take, for instance, Ted. He was on a grand, courageous expedition to make a woman happy and so he tried to do something sweet for her by buying her flowers.  This would have of course been a romantic, winsome gesture if it weren’t for the fact that her former fiancé had died of a peculiar allergy to roses. How quickly the “good guy” becomes the “insensitive bastard.” 

I don’t really say this as a quip on my own sex without completely hurling myself into the pot of evil femaledom. Handsome Thunder will vouch that there is not a single person in this world who is better at passive aggressive behavior and unrealistic expectations than yours truly. It’s really almost Guinness World Record worthy how long I can be mad at someone for breaking a promise they never even knew about.   

However, as I sat on the phone this time huffing and puffing and casting my grudge in gold, I realized he wasn’t being the ridiculous one – I was. How in the world was he supposed to know what had ruffled my feathers?

I immediately, if not slightly begrudgingly, apologized, said I was not fine, and then told him what had made me momentarily visit Serbia in my conversational tone.

And do you know what Handsome Thunder said in return to my confession? Females, you will probably need to sit down for this one. And perhaps rent an oxygen tank.

"Thank you for telling me."

(Insert large, joyous ringing of bells here.)

I realize, very much, that I am still female. And that the “No, I’m fine” button will always be more accessible than the Staples’ Easy Button. But when one can get “Thank you for telling me’s,” rather than sleepless nights of anger about absolutely nothing, I cannot help but wonder who the fairer of the sexes is after all.