Why Women Could Never be Dave Barry, Me, or *Uranus

So Dave Barry and I are soaking our stiff necks in the bathtub this morning, and we think of 10 reasons why women could never be men. Starting with necks. (We get to *Uranus later).

1. At the first sign of neck stiffness, women would call all their friends, analyze the problem, share the names of medical professionals and suggest home remedies from Grandma Bertha. If the problem persisted for more than, say, one day, they would seek medical care. Men will wait until they are paralyzed in pain from the eyebrows down, with a posture like Quasimodo, before deciding to get “professional help” by crawling into the bathtub with Dave Barry and a beer. Or, if it’s in the morning, a lite beer. OK, a cup of coffee. With rum in it.

2. While some women might see the humor in Congressman Weiner, not one of them would pull a muscle in their race to email this story to every guy they have known since grade school. I mean, “gas” and *”Uranus” in one epic headline?

3. Women would never, in a caring attempt to save their spouse from housework, put their articles of clothing that have been worn for a maximum of, say, 1.7 days, but are not yet technically “dirty” or smell like the Moosedawg, so they don’t really need to be washed yet, in the storage bin at the foot of the bed until, at some point, probably during the damp summer months, the wad of pulsating clothing combusts like a gas leak. From *Uranus.

4. If a woman were, hypothetically speaking, soaking her stiff neck in the bathtub this morning (because her friends recommended it), she would not have been with Dave Barry, or sipping a beverage in a fragile, imported collectors coffee mug, or carefully place the mug on the floor at the bottom of the tub (near its *Uranus) before shampooing, and almost certainly not, while blindly searching for the towel, punt the fragile collectors mug across the tiled floor, and then reassuringly call out, “Nothing to worry about, honey. My **Uranus is fine.”

5. **Uranus (see below).

6. Not ones for science or statistics, a woman would never grab an ice cube from the automatic icemaker and methodically throw it on the kitchen ***floor, because “it’s going to happen anyway”, and only then proceed to fill up her cup with ice and pitch the floor ice cub into the sink, or maybe kick it under the kitchen trolley if there were no witnesses, so it could melt and evaporate as nature intended.

7. If a woman were crouched while dove hunting, and it was really hot and humid, about dusk, and there was a funky cloud of about eleventy jillion buzzing gnats circling just over her head in an annoying manner, and she had not seen a dove all frickin day, that woman would not rest the butt of her 12 gauge on the ground, carefully move the tip of the barrel to the epicenter of the gnat cloud, fire at will, and then shout out, “Damn, did you see those ****doves? Flying towards Uranus?”

8. By this late in a blog post, a woman, unless it was my oldest sister Lynn, my middle sister *****Cathy, or possibly my half-sister Kris, would have tired of writing Uranus. Or Uranus. Or even Uranus. Or linking to this.

9. A woman would never utter any of these important guy sporting phrases:

“Can I borrow your jock strap? Mine’s gross.”

“When I drift the car sideways, you throw the empty Boone’s Farm wine bottles at Neimeier…”

“I would give my left nut to play golf like ******Tiger.”

10. And a woman would never, ever use the “find” function to determine how many times this post, including footnotes, but not tags, used the word “Uranus” (thus proving Men are from *******Mars, Women are from Venus).


* We will use this word as many times as humanly possible in this post. *Uranus. *Uranus. *Uranus.
** Uranus
*** With the exception of my sister, Lynn, who sees great humor in “Uranus” or, possibly, “URANUS”
**** Scientists believe doves circumnavigate the earth using signals emitted from Uranus. Fact.
***** Who used to build houses with guys, who have gassy Uranuses
****** Before he turned into a Uranus
******* By “Mars”, we of course mean, “Uranus”. Make that 22. Unless I lost count of all the Uranuses. 23.

P.S.: Not to be confused with the equally mature topic of Weinergate.

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4 Responses to “Why Women Could Never be Dave Barry, Me, or *Uranus”

  1. Nil zed says:

    Re: kris’ list #4 marks known you a long time. He has complete faith. Esp. if you forgot to lock the door. Can the small dog open the door?

    Also: if you two are actually related, that ‘splains a lot.

    • hams says:

      I have asked my ‘friends’ at the agency to dart and DNA test Kris, just to 100% confirm what our similar levels of inappropriateness/fear and loathing indicate – e.g. kinship – but they keep turning back when Jack poops on their shiny black government issue shoes. But I know what I know…

  2. Kris says:

    1) Wrong. I recently almost died from crippling disintegration of the spinal cord that turned out to be PMS and I spoke to no one of my pain other than my blog readers. Hush.

    2) I did not email the Weiner story to anyone, although I would have emailed the Weiner penis photo to everyone I know if it had been impressive. It was not.

    3) I have a pile of not-yet dirty clothes on my side of the bedroom on the floor. Drives my husband INSANE. I should so get a storage bin!

    4) Although I do regularly tweet from the bathtub, carefully holding my iPhone above the water-line. Mark insists that this will end badly. He has no faith.

    5) I love Uranus! What?

    6) I do this most days. The dogs love the small mystery puddles.

    7) I do not go hunting, but I could see this happening if I were a hunting sort of woman.

    8) Do you not remember this post of mine? http://www.prettyalltrue.com/2010/09/ass-tronomy/ In which I named my anus Julie? And then ran amuck in the comments with Uranus/anal sex jokes? Hee hee.

    9) Yeah, you can have this one. I need my left nut.

    10) I am from Remulak. Duh.

    Love you, Bill.

    Your half-sister,

    Who is giggling foolishly.


    • hams says:

      Yeah, but you are smarter than the average conehead, er, person from France, plus all kinds of inappropriate, and I so forgot about Julie, which is probably a very good thing. Live long and consume mass quantities of beverages, female parental unit, from France.

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