I share my life with a woman, a lovely one at that. A feminine one. But I am a man, and I think like the man my culture said I should be. That is the man of Western Civilization. He is ready when action is needed and often able to think his way out of tough situations, but honorable, kind, especially to women and children or the ill-starred. When a woman faces me with feminine characteristics that I think are wrong, I am almost dumbfounded. Words are not enough.

I forgive her, of course, ninety-nine times nine, but I have to walk somewhere else to do that. And that irritates her. She has feelings too. I take the consequences. Blaming my mentor from the New Testament is counter-productive, and would give me the moniker of being a religious freak. There are certain designations I surely want to avoid.

In my mother’s day they said it all comes out in the wash. And the wash, in case you didn’t know it, is judgment day. But can I wait that long?

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