Man Among Boys

This post has 512 words. It will take approximately 5 minutes, 7 secondes for reading it.

Evening, all.  By the time you read this, I’ll have made my annual trek to Atlanta to celebrate New Years Eve.  I love Atlanta.  I have some good friends there and the party scene is just what I need to end a very trying 2009.  I’m going to go out tonight and pop a few bottles with some friends, and maybe even make some new ones.  You know, cut loose a little bit and act a fool…within reason, of course.

This year was troubling, but I did get a few things accomplished.  I was able to move on and put the past behind me, as you’ve read in some of my posts.  I started this blog to reach out to people and tell what men are all about.  I was able to refocus and get back to doing ME.  I guess those are a few good things.

We all talk about making New Year’s resolutions as if they are going to be the gateway to some magical new lifestyle.  Some people believe in them, some people don’t.  I’m not going to debate with you about whether they work or not.  As Henry Ford said, “If you think you can do a thing or think you can’t do a thing, you’re right.”

I’ve decided it’s time to make a change.  Not the type of hopeful, Obama change, but the type of real, soul-searching change what will decide my future and what I’ll do moving forward (Note:  Get it in gear, Mr. President.  We need to see more of the change you promised in 2010.)

That brings me to my New Year’s resolution that I’m going to make, my change.  I’m going to live by a quote I was taught by a supervisor I used to work under, Mr. Wingate.  When I was in college, I worked at the state’s central branch of the Post Office loading bulk containers onto trucks.  Whenever you told him you couldn’t be done, you got the same answer from him…

“I can’t accept can’t.”

Somehow, I’d forgotten that I.  I’d changed from the cocky, young SOB who wasn’t afraid to try anything to a guy who was more timid.  F*** that.  I can’t be that guy anymore.  I’m not that guy anymore.  So that’s my resolution for 2010, to live by ”I can’t accept can’t.”

(That and “That’s not puttin’ chips in my pocket, pat-naaaa!”  Shout out to Freeman.  If you haven’t checked out his site, take a look at Rise And Grind ( www.riseandgrind.com).  It’s a good read.)

I’d be interested to hear about your resolutions.  What changes are you making for the New Year?  And why aren’t you starting them now?

So go out tonight, party, dance, sip some champagne or grape juice for my 21 and under friends, and have a great time.  But get home safe.

Have a Happy New Year.  Feel free to comment.

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This post has 806 words. It will take approximately 8 minutes, 3 secondes for reading it.

Pride is one of a man’s best and worst attributes.  Pride will make a man work as hard as he can and give his best effort.  Pride will also blind a man to the fact that there comes a time in life where it is time to move on and “pass the torch.”

This post is a bit more personal.  It has to do with someone I admire and look up to…my father.

For those of you who watch the national weather, you’ll know that we had a major snowstorm in the Northeast the weekend before Christmas. Some areas got anywhere from 18 – 24 inches of snow.  I live in the area that got the 24 inches.

Anyway, just as I’d dug myself out, I got a call from my mother asking if I could come by.  She sounded worried and asked could I come over as soon as possible.  I drove over as fast as I could, considering the weather, to find my father digging out the driveway.

I grew up here so I know how bad the snow can get, but this was the most snow we’d gotten in years. The plows had already come through so they pack heaps and snow in front of everyone’s house.  And there was dad, bent over and grunting considerably to dig himself out.

This bring me to my story of the Big Shovel. For was long as I can remember, there has always been the Big Shovel, about 4 feet long with a large metal end that looked like it could move mountains with one swipe.  When I was younger, it reminded me of a battle-axe with my father being the only black Viking in the neighborhood as he dealt the snow his wrath.

But I’m not so young anymore, and my dad not so mighty.  You can only expect so much from the old man.  He’s still pretty strong for his age and will probably outlive most of us, but you could tell that Father Time had finally gotten a hold of him. He seemed to struggle with the ice.  Instead of the superhero I’d looked up to for so many years…he looked…human…mortal.

I knew why my mom called me now.  It was time for me to take the Big Shovel.

It wasn’t like I didn’t try to take it before.  All through high school and college, my dad insisted and demanded that he take the big shovel and the brunt of the work.  Even after I had a family of my own and stopped by to check on them, dad was still outside shoveling away.  He’d always told me that’s what the man of the house does.  I was always given the smaller plastic shovel and was tasked with clearing the walkway and the steps.  From the car area down to the street was the “man work.”

I thought about how I’d approach him about it.  I really did.  My dad is a very proud man, who often tells of how he and his brothers had to go and chop trees for the wood stove to heat the house.  I remember him attending a football banquet at his old high school where he presented an award to an athlete that broke his all time rushing record, a record that stood for almost 40 years.  He was strong as an ox and took pride in taking care of his loved ones.

But this wasn’t the same man.  I wasn’t as concerned about his physical well-being as I was his pride.  As a man, we always take pride in taking care of our family and home.  And he couldn’t do that anymore…at least in this case.

I stepped out of my car and put on my gloves.  I approached my dad and gently tapped him on the shoulder.  He looked at me as if he knew it was time.

“Hey dad, let me take over for a while.”

He gave me his usual “I got it” and went back to work so I let him shovel a few more times until he was out of breath.  Then I tapped him on the shoulder again and smiled.  He gave me the shovel and went into the house.

It’s a hard thing, letting go of your pride and stepping aside.  Admitting that you’ve taken something as far as you can.  The mind is willing but the body is able.  But eventually, we all have to do that.  My father finally passed the Big Shovel onto me, and one day, I’ll pass it onto my son.

…or maybe I’ll just call him and tell him to take it.  That ice seems to get heavier and heavier.

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 474 words. It will take approximately 4 minutes, 44 secondes for reading it.

Before we get into the meat of the post, I’m going to tell you that in order to understand it, you have to know something about hip-hop.  I don’t mean that garbage Lil’ Wayne puts out, society’s modern-day obsession with the auto tune (every artist that uses it should pay homage to Roger Troutman), or that commercialized stuff that has the BK King grabbin’ the mic.

I mean real, old school, hip-hop.  Beat Street.  Krush Groove.  Treacherous 3.  Cardboard boxes on the sidewalk.  Furry Kangols.  If you don’t know about this stuff, you can try to keep up, but you might not get it.

I was watching television today and I came across this Nike commercial.  It’s a good commercial, but as soon as I heard “the voice”, I was shocked:

Don’t get me wrong.  I like the commercial.  It’s catchy and will help sell sneakers.  But in case you don’t know, the black Santa is the “blastmaster” KRS-One.

The legendary KRS-One. The leader of the mighty BoogieDown Productions.  The same KRS-One that destroyed the careers of MC Shan and the Juice Crew. The same KRS-One that is arguably the greatest lyricist of all time (I’m more partial to Rakim, but I can understand the argument.)

KRS-One was always the conscious mirror of hip-hop.  He wasn’t in it for the money, but for the art.  He always prided himself on doing it for the love.  He bashed those artists who he thought crossed over to the commercialized side.  In fact, he once threw another group off stage during their own performance for not doing what he coined “real hip hop”.

One of the things I admired about him as a man was that he stood steadfast in his beliefs, whether or not they were popular or even the most lucrative.

And now he’s doing sound overs for puppets???

The only reasons I didn’t put this in the “Just Not Manly” category are:

1. It’s KRS-One.  He’s a legend.
2. I’ll never knock someone for trying to earn an honest buck.  That’s insane.

But I have to question this.  To paraphrase a Lauren Hill lyric, did he gain the whole world for the price of his soul?  Did he sell out the art that he helped create?

Or maybe I just hate seeing good old school hip hop wasted on dancing, shucking and jiving puppets.

To all my old school hip hop heads out there…did KRS-One sell out hip hop?  As a man, did he go against his core principles and turn his back on the house he helped build?  This is something lighter for the holiday season, but it’s getting to me…

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 443 words. It will take approximately 4 minutes, 25 secondes for reading it.

I have to face facts…I’m getting older.  But that’s all a part of growing up.  A part of becoming a man among boys.

That’s why it always irks me to hear people say they’re “young at heart” and “you’re only as old as you feel.”  It’s every easy to take those statements out of context.

People often use those as excuses not to grow up.

On his  “Kingdom Come” album” (not his best work, but ok), Jay-Z even made song called “30 Something” where he talks about 30 being the new 20.

Sorry, bro…30 is 30.

When people say things like “young at heart”, they fool themselves into thinking they have more time than they do.  They think that they have time plan for retirement, time to solidify their career, time to start a family.  That’s very dangerous.

Life is just a series of decisions you make that are strung together.  Once you go down a path it, helps to determine your future choices.  Time is something you can’t get back once you lose it. There is an old quote that goes “each day brings 86,400 seconds, whatever isn’t used is gone forever”.  You can’t get that back, no matter how many miles you run, how many vitamins you take, or how much plastic surgery you get.  You can’t turn back the clock, no matter how much you try to fool yourself into thinking you can.

Instead of looking back and trying to recapture youth, why don’t we look forward and try to build a future?  You’ll be older much longer than you’ll be younger, so isn’t that what you should prepare for?

I think a lot of what drives us to want to go back is fear and responsibility.  15 years ago, my only responsibilities were to make sure I got to class on time and that I wore protection so I didn’t have any kids.  Now, I have a son of my own, bills to pay, strategic responsibilities at the office, and taxes to pay to Uncle Sam’s bum ass (get yo hands out my pockets!).  There’s a lot more at stake now.

There’s also a lot more opportunity. Sure things can and will go wrong, but what if things go right.  With the experience and resources, you can accomplish a lot.  Fear is just an opportunity to prove yourself.

Stop always looking to go back.  As Billy Joel sang, “the good ol’ days weren’t always good, and tomorrow ain’t as bad as it seems.”

Will you start acting your age?  Feel free to comment.

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This post has 624 words. It will take approximately 6 minutes, 14 secondes for reading it.

We’re going to go back to the mountains for this one…

My friend and I were at the lounge again having a drink (that’s all there really was to do at the resort) and engaging in another long discussion about life, politics, and other bullsh*t half-drunk people talk about.  This conversation happened to be about dating.

She asked me “why do guys feel like you should get sex for taking a woman to dinner?  What happened to being a gentleman?  You act like you’re paying for p*ssy.”

Half-jokingly I replied, “That’s because we are.”

I gave a chuckle and thought back to an episode of “The Boondocks” that I saw (funny sh*t).  Granddad was taking a prostitute out to dinner and Riley and Huey were debating if the girl was a ho because Granddad was paying.

• Huey: “You’re not paying her.  You’re paying the restaurant.”
• Riley: “But I’m payin’, and if I’m payin’, she’s a ho.”

That begs the question: Are the traditional dating rules just a socially acceptable form of prostitution?

I’m not saying that any woman that lets a guy take her out on the town is a prostitute.  What I’m saying is you compared dating and the adult film industry, dating would be like soft porn and the XXX stuff prostitution.  Not a direct match, but both show some skin and the general movements are the same.

Guys will take a young lady out to enjoy her company, get to know her, and share a good time…in hopes of having sex in the (hopefully, not too distant) future; let’s just be real – we grown folks in here.  The two will talk over dinner and directly or indirectly “negotiate” what will happen.  Terms can be discussed (standard, oral,…anal) and depending on how good the conversation and dinner are, the guy might receive the services he’s “paid” for.

Short version:  fellas, you’re paying for it…whether it’s dinner and a movie or a quick romp in the back seat of your car from a “professional  woman.”

It shouldn’t be seen like that, but that’s how it is.  I won’t mislead you with Steve Harvey or Oprah-like tip toeing around the issue.  Ladies, please don’t get offended.  Fellas, don’t act like you’ve never had this conversation with your boys in barbershops and sports bars in just about every city in America.  I’ve been involved in a lot of conversations with fellas about this very subject.  Often times it ends with a guy saying that he’d be perfectly fine just giving the girl the money and having sex rather than pay for dinner and a movie and play “cat and mouse” in HOPES of having sex later.

When did this dating shift happen?  Is it because of the perceived value women place on money?  The perceived value men place on sex?

Should we add another rule to The Rules of Dating that unless a woman is willing to have sex, the two should split the bill?  Ladies, do you do that already, just to make sure there’s no misunderstanding if you’re definitely not interested in sex?  Just something to think about.

Back to the lounge.  We were ready to leave so I asked for the check.  As I reached for my wallet, she snatched the check from my hand, pulled out some cash and gave it to our server.

She winked at me and said, “I’m payin’…so you know what you gotta do when we get back to the room.”

Treated me like a $2 ho.  That’s just wrong

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 625 words. It will take approximately 6 minutes, 15 secondes for reading it.

Part of being a man is admitting your fears and getting them out.  This post is as much for me as it is for you to read; call it a cleansing of the soul or facing my fears or whatever shi*t you want to call it.  It’s just something I have to get off my chest.

There’s a monster in my closet that I’m afraid of.  I’m scared to death of it.  It nearly killed me the last time; I barely got away.  I remember sitting in my living room with my head in my hands, wonder how I was going to go on…or even if I should.

Those who know me, who know the real me, know that the last few years have been really rough emotionally.  My life was turned upside down (you know there was a woman involved) and I got hit from the blind side.  Fifteen years…gone in an instant.

When it first happened, I went through a really deep depression.  I didn’t want to go out or see anyone.  My best friend was the bottle of vodka I’d nurse until I fell asleep.  I was fully functional to those who didn’t know; I was promoted twice at work and received several accolades.  But once I got home and closed the door, I was alone, and the monster would come out of the closet.

The monster was me.  A depressed, unmotivated, self-destructive me.  A me I didn’t recognize when I looked in the mirror. This monster looked timid and afraid.  I didn’t recognize it. I didn’t recognize me.

There would be days I wouldn’t shave, get dressed, or even bathe.  I didn’t care if I ate or slept.  I’d just stay in bed.  Days seemed passed without me even knowing sometimes.  I’d was a walking corpse; I was dead inside.

There were times when death seemed a reprieve.   I was dead anyway; I just happened to be breathing.

I’m telling you this because the monster nearly came out of the closet again.  It wasn’t because of a woman; it was just because of life.  Things are a little tough right now.  Stress is building and my motivation was sloping.  For the past few days, I hadn’t gone to the gym (those that know me are probably shocked; I’m a ritual 6 day per week guy).  I’d look at the phone and just let it ring; I didn’t want to talk to anyone.  This feeling seemed too familiar; the monster was coming out again..

Am I crazy?  A lil’ bit.

But something happened today.  I woke up early, 6 AM. I laid in bed with my eyes opened.  I rubbed my overgrown facial hair.  I looked around my messy room; clothes and papers were everywhere. But something changed today.

I told myself, “Get up.”  And I did.  The monster wasn’t going to get me.  Not this time.

I cleaned up my bedroom, changed into my workout clothes, and headed for the gym.  I showered and shaved.  I felt like a brand new man.  I went to a casino and played a poker tournament.  My pocket Kings got cracked by a set of 3′s.  I laughed it off.  I didn’t make the final table, but it didn’t matter.  I was just having fun.  I did some Christmas shopping.  I called an old friend I hadn’t spoken to in a year.  I wrote a few blogs you’ll see here in the future.  I started reading a book.

In short…I decided to live.

The monster’s not going to get me.  Not this time.

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 632 words. It will take approximately 6 minutes, 19 secondes for reading it.

More from my trip in the mountains…

We’d been at the resort for a little while now and got settled in before we decided to eat.  We sat down to dinner, eating, talking, laughing, and enjoying a great time.  As we were sharing a joke, something happened to me that happens to most men…

A fine, correct that, very fine looking lady walked past our table.  A gift and a curse; very nice scenery but if you get caught, you know you will hear about it sooner or later.

So I took a look, not even a look really, more like a peek.  And of course…when my eyes came back to the front, hers were fixed on me…and it wasn’t a happy look.

“I can get her number for you if you want it.”  You can guess how the rest of the night went.

We talked about it, and even debated a little later over a drink.  This was actually a sensitive issue for her.  She said I did that a lot and that she was offended by it (in fact I did it last night).

She said it didn’t have anything to do with insecurity, but she thought it was disrespectful for me to even glance at another woman while in another’s company.

In short, “don’t be lookin’ at no other b*tches when you’re out with me.”

(Note: If I called her or any other woman a b*tch, I would get blessed out because it’s disrespectful and women should be placed on high.  But it’s ok for her to call another woman a b*tch.  I’m not itching to have the word rolling off my tongue, but it’s a tad hypocritical, don’t you think?  However, I digress; that is another topic for another time.)

I am an admitted “girl watcher.”  For all the sh*t I talk, I appreciate the female species, and thank the Lord for every day you are on this earth.  If you can’t appreciate the stunning beauty of Gabrielle Union, Kim Kardashian, or Alicia Keys, well, you’ve got issues.  In fact, for the fellas that missed this pic in my Thanksgiving post, it’s worth putting up a second time.  God is good, all the time..

And since I’m not prejudiced or biased, it wouldn’t be right to just show Alicia, now would it…

Now let’s get back on track…

Appreciating the beauty of another woman doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate the company that I’m with, or that I’ll leave you as soon as a bigger ass comes along (I’m more of a breast man anyway).  That just means I appreciate the female species.

Some of the ladies reading may be wondering how I’d feel if an attractive man walked by and you looked.  I think it would be more strange if you didn’t look.  I know there are some handsome men out there; feel free to gawk.  He probably appreciates it, and it’s a nice thing to make someone’s day.  I’m not going to get upset and berate you for looking at someone you found attractive.

If it happens to be a woman you’re looking at, I might invite her over to have a drink with us .

What side of the aisle do you sit on this issue? Are you the type to “handcuff” your man or woman? Do you think a look can lead to more?  Do you think it’s ok to look at another person while you’re in another’s company?  Is it ok to “look at the menu as long as you don’t order?”

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 568 words. It will take approximately 5 minutes, 40 secondes for reading it.

This is a continuation of my posts about my trip to the mountains.  Since my last post about my “Plain Cheese Pizza Theory” was such a hit, I figured it was ok to move onto something else.

We kept driving through the mountains and talked about a few other topics, one of which being family. We’ve shared a lot with each other.  I told her about the history of cancer in my family; 2 uncles and my father were diagnosed with cancer but, thankfully, had any cancer removed.  I’m not at the age where I have to worry about getting tested for it regularly yet, but I’m no spring chicken.  So that turned to talk about me…

• Her: So, are you getting tested?
• Me: I’ve been thinking about it.  I’m going to schedule a blood test.
• Her: Well you need to do more than that.  You need the “other” test.
• Me: Girl…don’t go there.
• Her (wagging her index finger in the air and smiling): You know what I mean…
• Me: Say one more word, I’ll active my ejector set and shoot yo ass right into orbit….

It’s not going down like that.  No way, no how.  No prostate exam, no colonoscopy.  Nothing going anywhere it shouldn’t for any reason.

I’ve honestly had nightmares about the “other” test, imagining a doctor with a super long Arsenio Hall index finger and a sinister “MUAAAHHHHH” laugh as he puts on his gloves. I’ve awoken in a sweat, tossing and turning in my sleep, dreaming I was butt ass naked, stomach down on a cold table, waiting to be…violated.

I’ve talked with my uncle about this before.  He had the test.  He told me he was put under and didn’t feel a thing.  No one would ever know.  But I’d know…and that’s one person too many.

What if I saw the doctor out one day while at a movie or on a dinner date?  “Hey, how are you? Remember me?  I had my finger in your rectum a few weeks ago, you know, just probing around. How’s the soup?”

I doubt the doctor would say that…but he could if he wanted to.  He would have finger “knowledge” of me…in the biblical sense.

Just the thought of that makes me shiver.

If I have to choose between the doctor conducting an anal probe and death…well, dying doesn’t seem all that bad.  When I leave this world, I won’t be able to take any of the awards I’ve won, the accolades I’ve received, or any money I’ve made.  At least leave me my dignity.

Is my view on this a bit childish? Probably.  If is foolish to risk my health and life over not wanting someone to put a tube up my behind? Yep.  But I’m so against this it’s not even funny.

Everybody dies.  The Grim Reaper comes for us all at one time or another.  I want to leave this world with my head held high…and my hindquarters unexplored.

My family, friends, and loved ones may mourn my passing, but I’d want them to remember me as I was. They can put on my tombstone,

“Gone too soon…but no man ever had his finger in his ass.”

Feel free to comment.

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This post has 500 words. It will take approximately 5 minutes for reading it.

I’m going to interrupt the series on my trip to the mountains for something newsworthy.  It shouldn’t be news worthy and we shouldn’t even have to discuss it, but it’s news now.

Part of being a man is being responsible.  It’s about protecting your family and having self-respect.  It’s not all about sexual conquests and the number of women you sleep with.  I used to admire Tiger Woods for his mastery of his craft, drive, and determination.  Now I think he might be the dumbest ass on the planet.

I officially have to say that Eldrick “Tiger” Woods is not TrueMan approved.

It’s been reported on USMagazine.com that Tiger Woods didn’t wear a condom with two of his side pieces.  I’m saying at least two.  You know more will come out of the woodwork.

This is unmanly.  This is dangerous.

Look, if you’re going to cheat, that’s one thing.  But if you’re going to go bareback all the time, you risk bringing that sh*t home.  He put his wife and his two children at risk.  If you’re single and you do that, I don’t condone it, but at least you’re not putting your family at risk.

It also wouldn’t surprise me if it came out that he had a few more little Tigers running around out there.

As you all know, or at least should know, when you sleep with someone without protection, you are sleeping with everyone they’ve ever slept with.  These scandalous hoes were willing to sleep with a married celebrity on more than one occasion. I think it’s safe to say they’ve probably  been around the block a few times.

I’m not hear to preach about safe sex. I’m sure that we’ve all done things we regret, either in a drunken stupor or in heat of the moment.  But this is different.  Tiger was out there, I mean really out there.  I’m hearing that the number of side pieces he had might be as high as ten. TEN.  Not flings or number of times he cheated, TEN side pieces.  You know he slept with those women at least once, and we’re expected to believe he went raw with just these two??

The USMagazine online article quotes some quack psychotherapist as saying that “this seems like sexual addiction.”  I don’t think it’s that complicated.  I think it was hubris and his feeling of invincibility.  I think Tiger felt like he was on top of the world (or behind, depending on your preferred position) and that he could do anything so he didn’t bother to take a couple of seconds and open a condom wrapper.

Tiger always kept his 9-iron covered.  I guess he didn’t feel it was important enough to cover his wood.

Tiger, you need more than to man up.  You need help…

Feel free to comment.

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Hi, all.  I’m sorry that my posts were lacking a little last week.  I took some time off and went away for a much-needed break from the rest of the world.  I’d begun to get stressed out.  When you’re a breath away from telling a co-worker, “Man, I’ll slap the sh*t out you if you say one more word”, you need some time off.

I went to a mountain resort and spa with a female acquaintance for a five-day getaway.  We had a lot of fun just laughing and kicking back.  It was about a 3 and a half hour drive, which gives you a lot of time to talk about a lot of different things; that can be a good and a bad thing, but it’s interesting.  It was good to get a female perspective in a 1-on-1 setting.  The next few blogs will be about my trip unless something news breaking happens so stay tuned.

As we were driving through the mountains the whole Tiger Woods saga was unfolding, which brought us to the age-old question “Why Do Men Cheat?”

I’ll explain it to you the way I explained it to her to help you understand men and why men cheat at times.  It isn’t because we hate you or you will never really satisfy us.  It isn’t because we always need to have new p*ssy or for some immature conquest.

Men cheat because we love you and we want to learn to appreciate you more.  It’s what I call “The Plain Cheese Pizza Theory.”  Now close your mouth and try to follow me on this one…

If you are married or in a committed, monogamous relations, to your man, you are like plain cheese pizza.  Men love plain cheese pizza because it is always there for us when we need it.  You can’t really go wrong with plain cheese pizza.  Think about it; have you really ever had a bad piece of plain cheese pizza?  Plain cheese pizza is a standard.  It’s predictable, but reliable.  It just cheese, sauce, and dough, but gives you the basic essentials that you need.  We can live off it and it will help us sustain us for the rest of our lives.

Now, think about eating plain cheese pizza every day for the rest of your life?  Can you do it?  Can you look at the same slice of plain cheese pizza every day for the rest of your life and eat it with the same excitement that you did the f first time you ever had it?  Would the last bite you just took taste just as good as the first.  Probably not.

So every now and again, your man goes out and gets a “slice” of pepperoni pizza.  It’s spicy and a little tastier.  It’s edgy and different.  It’s just the change we need every once in a while.  So we take a bite…

But pepperoni pizza isn’t always good.  Sometimes, it’s greasy.  Other times, the edges of the pepperoni might be burned.  The pepperoni might be too crunchy and make the entire experience a little less enjoyable.  We might not always like it, so we go back to what we know and love – plain cheese pizza.  Your man begins to think about how much he loves and appreciates the plain cheese pizza he has.  Understand?

As we kept driving, she asked, “Why can you just put some pepperoni on the plain cheese pizza if you want to spice it up?”  Because then it would never be plain cheese pizza again in our eyes, and plain cheese pizza is what we’ve always loved.  Pepperoni is good occasionally; it’s not healthy for us all the time.

And that is why men cheat…to remind us of how much we really love our plain cheese pizza.

What do you think?  Feel free to comment

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