What Men Want

This is in response to my daughter's question on her blog. What do men really want?

I hope this helps, darlin'.

REAL MEN want to eat. Whoever said that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach wasn't lying, at least as far as I'm concerned. My sweetheart is an excellent, EXCELLENT cook. She makes stuff I like, doesn't force me to eat stuff I don't like (onions, squash, coconut, etc.), and is Southern through and through. She out-Paula's Paula Deen. I think they are twin sisters of different mothers. Remember there are four basic food groups: Fried, Steakhouse, Chocolate, and Krispy Kreme. You'll do fine if you keep that in mind.

REAL MEN want to watch football. Em, if your significant other doesn't like football, he's probably funny. To quote those great theologians John Boy and Billy, "That's funny quar, not funny ha-ha." Be very particular about the man you choose to spend your life and love with. Begin dating him during college football season and keep him around through the Super Bowl. That will reveal his true character. If he likes any college teams outside the Southeastern Conference or the ACC or any NFL team north of the Carolinas, dump the idiot.

REAL MEN love dogs and children. I'm talking about real dogs, not the sissy ones you see sometimes. No "P" dogs: poodles, pomeranians, and such. Real men love real dogs: bulldogs, retrievers, anything that can track, hunt, and kill their own food. In this way they are like their owners. The same goes for children: real boys that don't mind getting dirty or getting in trouble, can go for days without bathing, don't wash their hands often, and are hard to control. If you need insight on this, ask your mom. She has firsthand experience in this area. Girls need to be girls, just like you were. If the guy likes children who are like you, you'll be fine. And by the way, if the boy doesn't like your mom now, he won't like you later on. Don't cut him loose, just tell your brothers. They'll cut him for you.

REAL MEN are sensitive. This may go against conventional wisdom, but genuine men are truly sensitive. They enjoy long walks, cuddling, backrubs without any further expectations, crying at movies, and just talking quietly. They like all this just before they throw up. If your guy is all over one or more of these things without putting up a fight, run away. Run away.

Emily, I think the bottom line is that it doesn't really matter what a man wants, generally speaking. If he doesn't want you all the time, through good and bad, even through your "chocolate days", he ain't worth a bucket of cold spit. He doesn't deserve you, and you sure don't need him. He's a migraine-sized train wreck waiting to happen and you don't need to be on those tracks.

Be patient, baby, he'll come. And when he does, you'll know, he'll know, and I'll want to kill him. I'll have to let you go, and he never will. It'll be perfect.

I'll be miserable.

I'm Baaaacccckkk....

I know all the readers of this blog missed me--all three of you--while I was out due to surgery for the last few weeks.

Well, I'm back and I have a story to tell.

First of all, I absolutely have the best family God ever blessed anyone with. My sweet wife nursed, prayed, and simply loved me back to health. My son Carder and daughter Emily were here for the surgery and I don't think we would have made it through that first weekend without them. Emily was constantly finding a way to bless me, and Carder slept on the couch as I slept in the recliner those first two nights. He got up and walked with me and talked me through one of the worst experiences of my life. My mom came by every day during my recovery at home and ran all my errands. There isn't enough gas to repay her for all she did. I am forever thankful for my family.

Now, on to the good stuff.

I entered the hospital at 5:30am on the morning of my prostate surgery. They gave me the "happy shot" and I was off to the races. Never felt better. I really couldn't tell anything was wrong with me based on how I felt. My doctor said most men die with prostate cancer, not of it. At times I wish I'd exercised that option. More on that later.

My biggest concern going in was having to wear a catheter for five days. Coming out, that was the least of my problems.

The catheter wasn't an issue, at least not for me. It was like wearing a plumber's auger connected to an industrial drain pipe which led to a septic tank. No problem.

Suffice it to say, moving around was an adventure. I had five "ports" in my abdomen where they inflated that area to gain access to the "surgical target". After the surgery, I still had some "inflation" from the helium they used, probably around 60 psi, much like a truck tire's inflation. No problem.

I had no appetite. I once loved coffee, but no more. Nothing sounded good to me, and nothing tasted good either. So far, I've lost over thirty pounds. No problem.

I couldn't have a bowel movement. No shit. Literally.

PROBLEM.

I took a laxative AND a stool softener to "keep things moving".

(If this is getting to be too much for you, stop here. You won't like what's coming up.)

The nuclear bomb dropped on Toiletshima three days later. Twelve stool softeners and three laxative pills (for "gentle relief") will make "things" move.

Jennie thought we were being attacked by terrorists. So did I, from the inside out.

My doctor stayed in touch, from a distance. When I asked him about my explosion, he said it was normal. Really. Maybe for an elephant.

I had questions. I couldn't eat or drink anything twelve hours before surgery, hadn't eaten a thimbleful of food since then, and now, at the end of four days, as I unstopped my system I stopped up the plumbing system, I wondered, was I really that full of crap?

Apparently so. My doctor wouldn't comment. My wife just looked at me knowingly when I asked her, and I'm sure y'all know it's true. I was that full of it.

Just not anymore. You can ask my toilet.