In battle of sexes, loose lips sink ships
Ever since Harvard University President Lawrence Summers made the statement about men being smarter than women, I have begun to notice the differences.
His observation was a little more complicated than that, and my conclusion may seem like an oversimplification, but that’s what I do for a living, I oversimplify. But to expand on Summers’ statement only slightly, he said that men are better than women at math and science.
The differences I have begun to study are related to more general gender attitudes and practices, on which I will no doubt someday write a thoughtful scientific paper, now that I know I have that aptitude.
For instance, most recently I was in a checkout line at Vons behind a woman who was told that her bill was $52.78. She had a loaf of sourdough bread, a bottle of Zinfandel, a dozen cans of cat food, a frozen ravioli dinner, bagels and a variety of fruits and vegetables.
Told how much it was, she methodically opened her purse, unzipped a compartment, realized it was the wrong compartment, re-zipped the compartment, unzipped another compartment, took out a coin purse, extracted currency, counted out $52, closed the coin purse, laid the currency on the counter, closed the compartment, took out another coin purse, counted out 78 cents in nickels, dimes and pennies, placed them on the counter, closed the coin purse, zipped the purse closed and began to leave.
Every man in the line behind her breathed a sigh of relief, which turned to a gasp of dismay when she hesitated, as though she might return to the check stand, but then she changed her mind and left. We weren’t satisfied until she was completely out of the store and on her way home to Culver City, where people like that live.
My purchase was considerably larger than hers, but anticipating the procedure, I had already made out the check, except for the amount, and by the time the checker announced the total, I was done in an instant and striding smartly toward the door. The process took only a fraction of the time required by the woman.
“So what?” my wife said when I told her about it. “You’re just noticing that men are different than women?”
“I’m just saying she could never be involved in launching a rocket from Cape Canaveral or designing an ultimate computer or doing anything else that required a swift application of logic.”
“Maybe she’s a newspaper columnist. I don’t see you launching a rocket or designing a computer. You can’t even find a jar of pickles in the refrigerator.”
Well, there’s that. Cinelli was making sandwiches one day and asked me to hand her a jar of pickles from the refrigerator. I searched every shelf and poked in every corner but found nothing. “We don’t have any pickles,” I said.
She sighed, reached in, and instantly emerged with a jar of pickles. I have noticed that female trait in the past, the ability to find an object that had been previously invisible. It is definitely a gender-related skill, linked to a woman’s aptitude for kitchen work and the supernatural.
I was discussing Summers’ comments one day with a friend who said he’d met this man at a party and wondered how he knew the host. “He said, and so help me God this is true, that he was the guy’s wife! His partner maybe, sure, or even his roommate, but his wife?”
“That raises an interesting question,” I said. “If he considers himself a wife and obviously has more female than male traits, is he better at trigonometry or home ec?”
“I don’t even joke about that around my house,” the friend said. “I kidded one day that Rosie was better at cooking than repairing transmissions and she gave me the kind of cold, hungry look you see in the eyes of great whites when they’re about to strike.”
“I didn’t know you knew that much about sharks. They also roll over on their backs when they’re looking for a bite.”
“Thanks a lot. Now I’ll be awake half the night wondering what’s about to happen when she rolls over on her back.”
I have no fear of Cinelli as long as I don’t hum. There’s something about humming that women dislike. I think it involves their notion that humming blocks our erotic fantasies of other women.
Remember that scene from “The War of the Roses” in which Michael Douglas is humming happily and bobbing his head while he eats, and Kathleen Turner fixes him with a look filled with hatred and disgust? Well, when I hum I don’t get that, but I do get an expression of deep annoyance that probably precedes hatred and disgust. So I’ve stopped humming, except when I’m alone or with other men and we all hum together.
“I think basically we just all have different talents and aptitudes,” I said to Cinelli in a grand, yet painful, moment of conciliation.
“Great,” she said, “then how about displaying your talent for taking out the garbage? Think you can handle that?”
I can, but I’d rather be launching satellites into space.
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Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He can be reached at al.martinez@latimes.com.
