Of Cake and Kegels

I rarely have empirical evidence - or evidence of any other kind, for that matter -  to back up anything I say. I mostly make shit up, as you know. But every once in a while, there is a harmonic convergence of the smoke I blow outta my ass and actual bona fide clinical research that supports my thesis.

And God, I wish that were the case right now. But it's not. Well, it is a little. But not much.

In one of my parenting classes this week, one lone dad showed up amid two couchfuls of moms. Knowing how skittish the lone dad can be in an estrogen-laden environment, and not wanting to spook him, I approached cautiously when we all sat down for discussion.

"So," I said, "only one dad here today. May I ask you a question?"

He laughed nervously. I might have seen a small tic appear under his right eye. He nodded.

"Okay, then" I smiled, "so tell us...HOW COME YOU ARE HORNY EVEN WHEN YOU ARE PISSED OFF AT US? WE ARE NOT HORNY WHEN WE ARE PISSED OFF AT YOU!"

Sometimes, you just gotta go for it.

The baby gate was up so I knew he couldn't bolt. Only babies can work that fucking gate. One day I fully expect a jailbreak coup; the kids make a run for it, shut the gate behind them and head off to Denny's for the Grand Slam, leaving the adults in the classroom jiggling the gate's child-proof latch and calling out to their children in a very stern voice to stop running away. Right this minute. I said, stop! Or bring us back some French toast, at least.

The lone dad cleared his throat. This could still go either way. I've had parents drop out of my classes or stop coming to me for private consults because I tend to cross some boundaries, talking about blow jobs and such, not sticking to the more catholic topics of parenting. I didn't want to lose this dad, however, because he was very good looking and one cannot underestimate the value of eye candy on a rainy Monday morning.

Thankfully, he was up to the task. Didn't even flinch when I reminded the moms to begin our 25 Kegels while he answered. (May I suggest you do the same while reading this? Your lady innards are inching their way down this very moment and may well pop out, unannounced, by morning, landing in a neat little pile by your pajamas, did you know this?)

The first 7 or 8 Kegels were done in silence while Lone Dad collected his thoughts and helped himself to a slice of coffee cake. That was okay, because as far as I am concerned from now on, the double buzz of looking at both a cute man AND a warm coffee cake is the only way to get through Kegel exercises. Surely, any other way will be denouement.

Lone Dad cleared his throat again.

"It's easy," he said, "we compartmentalize. We don't get distracted by other things."

He talked quite a while about this, even citing a few studies that prove how women gather a little bit of a lot of ambient information and men gather almost all of one point of information and nothing of the rest. Or something to that effect. I didn't really get all of what he said; I was kinda distracted.

Because just then I noticed that the cake had tiny chocolate chips hidden in the struesel.

Comments

[Claudia]

Another honest, funny, interesting piece. I wish I understood compartmentalization. My only grasp of what it must be like is that I can be yelling at one of my children and then pick up a ringing telephone and sound cheerful.

And I did my kegels. As ever, it felt as if I was learning to hiccup with my vagina.

[Claire]

I could have told you that. I will never understand men: you ask them a question like, "Do you want to go to Bill and Jane's for dinner?" and they just say "yes" or "no" based on whether it sounds like fun or not and they don't get that Jane gave you a funny look the last time you were all together, and you owe them a meal so if you go to their house AGAIN, then you'll really owe them, and how you have to get up early tomorrow and how Jane makes the best chocolate cake and why is their house always neater than yours? and so on. It's like they only hear the question you're ASKING and not all the other stuff. What is WRONG with them?

[Lunaea]

Oh, bah, compartmentalizing. It's all gatherers v. hunters, babe. It's "Can I spot the one edible useful herb in the middle of all these poisonous plants while watching for snakes, inventing writing, and keeping an eye on my 12 children?" compared to "Can I shoot an arrow into that wildebeest before it smells me?" We can do 100 things at once, they can do one thing at once. Good things, yes, but just one at a time.

[Bizu Philiippines]

I enjoyed reading your post. It makes a lot of sense.

vee

[Larry]

I am finally going to pipe up. I have been reading your blogs for a few months now. Of course it is difficult to find the time as I can never let Lynne know that I am delving into her secret world. So as I read this one (in the closet as they say) I was really surprised that you had Dr. Fucking Phil join your group. His response was not only insightful but clinical. Did he have a copy of "Men are from Mars.." stuffed in his pants?
My response, if you could have found me as I would have probably been looking for your liquor cabinet, would have been more in tune with "argument?, your mad at me?, that was so 7 minutes ago.....lets do this."
Kudos to the gent that showed up to the lion(nesses) den in the first place. He has balls! As for the rest of us. We do not know what we do. We just do.
Keep them rolling Ann. I love your shit.