Reason is what the world hums to. Logic defines human mechanical evolution; it binds the world we know. That it makes rats out of us, forever scurrying for that extra bit of bread is perhaps irrelevant.
Amidst all these systems that flow to the dictates of thought, Nature threw in a bomb. A system that functions… er... malfunctions, on the dictates of emotion.
Schooled to search for the truth in facts and to believe in black-and-white, we encounter our first moment of doubt when we run into women in the flush of adolescence. Sure, they’ve always been around, but in the throes of erections, masturbation and hormone-induced acne, they suddenly assume an aching, mysterious importance.
Delusional, we judge them by parameters of certitude; the black-and-white rules we are familiar with.
But when a ‘no’ is meant to convey ‘yes’ and ‘maybe’ morphs to another potential ‘yes’ and never devolves to ‘maybe’, things get a bit screwed.
That’s where one’s notion of rationality too, begins to get stretched to the extent that only a woman’s imagination is capable of.
That’s not said in applause but in awe. The sort that overcomes you when you learn that it’s considered perfectly acceptable (and fair) to dredge up what has been uttered in the throes of emotion or passion a couple of years ago. Women have memories that would give any gigabyte mainframe a short circuit. Remembering the broad import of what was said many years ago I understand. But precise sentences?
Believe me when I say I really don’t like this ‘us’ versus ‘them’ business. It hangs pedantically around my desire to be a non-judgmental kind of cool guy.
But ladies, if you want to whack me for this piece I, too, shall take refuge in the most omnipotent of explanations: “Darling, don't mind what I said. It was just PMS.”