Women talk. Men don’t listen. Or won’t. Or can’t. There’s a gender disconnect. Why? Because men can’t read between the lines and are unschooled in discerning the subtlety of a message.
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Age is instructive as well as destructive. We learn even as we forget. Sometimes we have to re-learn what we’ve supposedly already learned. Particularly with men, like how to interpret what women are saying, or in many cases, what they’re not verbalizing, but their bodies are transmitting loud and clear.
I’m having lunch alone one day, tucked nicely into a quiet corner table. Without warning, a parade of ladies (aren’t all women ladies?) march in, all twelve of them, and take residence at the table adjacent to mine. They no sooner sit before the conversation begins.
Not that I’m interested in what they’re saying, and even if I were, there would be no way to decipher the cacophony or follow the incoherent sequence the conversations are taking. Twelve women, all talking, is anyone listening? No algorithm can decode the stream of babble emitted by twelve tongues all moving at the same time. Subtle discussions are out of the question. It’s an instructive moment. And it got me to thinking of the many ways women speak.
Besides tongues, they can speak in other languages, particularly body languages so subtle they could be a model dressed in a cloak of many colors. A chameleon. It changes with the situation. It’s a covert language where gestures replace words. It’s a didactic Esperanto, incomprehensible to the uninitiated. Understood by women, but hopelessly lost on men.
Subtlety speaks without sound. The eyes and hands never lie. The old ‘cross your arms’ construct erects an impenetrable fortress. Only fools attempt to assault that compound. Same with the ‘hands on the hips’ posture. Men are less afraid of rattlesnakes than this gesture.
Men, imagine you’re having an amorous evening in a dark bistro with a beautiful woman. Your wife, perhaps. You feel romantic. You’re quoting Keats, or something out of The Rubaiyat, strange words, meanings beyond your comprehension.
Across the table she’s fixating on her red nail polish. You don’t get it. You’re confused. But, like the buffoon you are, the drivel continues to drip profusely from your lips. She swallows a Zantac and asks for the check. The message? Do you really have to ask?
Research hints that men’s auditory nerve may not actually be connected to the ear. It’s coupled elsewhere and responds to other stimuli, things like the mention of food, or sports, or other more primordial urges. Women are forced to resort to more dramatic means of communication.
Men tend to rant on their exploits and ego. Women have perfected the ‘zip-of-the-lip’ response. The meaning? Shut up! Or leave. Or die. Picture a large nail. A hammer. A wooden coffin. Your coffin. You’re inside. You hear the steel-to-steel pounding. Your sounds are silenced. You’ll soon be dust.
Oh, the ‘look-away’ eyes. You know, those eyes that constantly glance at something or someone beyond you. They search in the distance for relief. Or a mirror. The message? She wishes to be elsewhere, anywhere, except with you.
The ‘doodling-with-the-pen’ sends a less-than-subtle dismissal. The obsessive clicking of the ballpoint is a dead giveaway. Same is true with the constant glance at her watch. She’s totally written you off, buddy. Meeting over.
Men, now pay attention. Observe closely when she begins to trace the lines in her palm. She’s wondering what garbage scow you showed up on. Leave quickly before becoming the twerp she thinks you are. She smiles, looking at the short line, envisioning a future without you.
Then there’s the ‘sideways hug.’ It says, “Beat it, buster.” If you’re getting this, please preserve the last scintilla of your shattered pride and ‘slip out the back, Jack.’ She’s moved on…without you. And oh, the ‘silent treatment.’ It reduces one to a giant shrinking slug, sliding through the cracks in the floor.
Alas, a man’s worst nightmare might be the message sent by the ‘wedding ring removal.’ You won’t have to read between the lines on this one!
Some speculate that God might be female. It’s just not so. God only whispers or speaks in silence or heavy thunder. I wonder if God might even be married?
The twelve ladies finish their lunch, ask for their checks. Separate checks. I exit quickly before the queue begins.
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Body language…it’s all too much for me to comprehend. Good luck on your interpretation.
Bud Hearn
April 10, 2019