I’m Not Apologising For Being A Man

Heres the deal,  I’m a guy I was born that way.  At no point did anyone ask me which sex I preferred, or do a bit of a survey of the options.  But in the end thats what I turned out as and all being well, I’m quite happy.  So when I’m standing there on the train keeping one eye on my folding bike whilst leafing through whatever book fell off the shelf first don’t for all that is holy look at me like i’m something you might find on the bottom of your shoe.  It’s not my fault that your boyfriend, husband, partner or whatever can’t cook, can’t wash up, smells funny, is lazy, or any permetation of a million things they are not me.

Why is it offensive for me to make even a midly sexist remark, but yet railing on men is considered fair game.  Iv’e heard the argument that it’s just payback from the many years of the dark ages when women where subjegated by their husbands and fathers but I didn’t do that, my father didn’t do that but yet I better not complain or i’ll be accused of being stroppy or childlike.

Why is it when I take you out for a date you instantly assume I’m a failure because I choose not to drive a car, never stopping to ask if I actually can drive (which I can) or why I made that choice.

Why is that I’m supposed to understand your feelings and sense of inadiquecy when compared to the girls you see in the magazine but you never stop to ask how I feel, or how the constant parade of pop stars and football players who girls swoon over, who look pretty but have the intellegence of a bacon sandwich.

All this goes through my head in the nanosecond you give me that glance, everytime.  Rejection is easy when you just get told I’m not interested again for the hundreth time, when it’s done in a mere glance without word or thought it hurts like a fresh knife wound everytime.

I am David J. Lodwig I am an adventurer, a cyclist, a scout and a human being, I am what I am nothing more, nothing less.