Mars Needs Women

Hey, cats and kittens, the day began with a rush up the rear fender by some guy in a hurry who boxed his way into the passing lane and then boxed back to the right. You know what I mean, he drove his SUV like he was making the bed with four-square corners, no gradual lane change. The fellow was in a big 7:30 hurry to get to someplace where probably nobody wanted to see him anyways. I waved hello as he went by, but this is the cool part: I was wearing big mittens, so he couldn't see that I was flipping him the bird inside the mitt while waving. Go me. I am too smart/chicken to do it without the mittens, but this was a free hit.

After work, I had to pick up information from the drugstore, and as I was cashing out with my ten-cents a box deal on candy canes ( bought ten boxes, kids), one of the workers commented on the newspaper's front page picture of the Chinese president meeting with our guy. "They want our women," he said. What? "Yeah, that's what this is all about. You know what they do to the girl babies over there, so now they're out of women. They're coming over here to get ours." Holy crap. Is this true? Logistically, it's possible, because there really are fewer girls than boys due to birth policy in China. I love my neighborhood drugstore.

But how does this happen, this intermarriage? Is there going to be planeloads of brides exported, or are the men coming here? Either way, I dunno if the Chinese men understand that an American woman is for one thing goddam tired of shit and also can lift the front end of a bus during the monthly hormonal rockathon. Sure, come on over, we'll take a look. Bring us presents. Most of the stuff we buy comes from your country anyway. Smile as you give us a new, small, kitchen appliance; tell us you helped make it. Then the gesture becomes more personal.

Reality is, however, that an average Chinese male is 145 pounds and maybe 5'8". So look, unless you have excellent ninja moves, our women will be able to keep you in a pumpkin shell very well, so to speak. What? What? You need a shirt ironed for work at six in the morning? You left the refrigerator open and the ice cream on the counter? You're helping her (the other woman) learn English? Oh ho ho. C'mere, skinny.

Take a step back, however, and contrast this situation with the horse's ass in a hurry that flew by me this morning. The one who got the hidden bird flipped at him. He wasn't Chinese, and maybe this is the news necessary to enlighten his attitude. (If the hurry had been an emergency, I don't think I would have been given the box-in, box-out display of impatience telling me that I didn't recognize someone had a bug up his self-entitled American arse and I was in the way). Lighten up, fella, our choices are ever expanding throughout the political midway and economic equilibrium. And here we thought it was a trade agreement for manufactured goods being negotiated, when all they really want is our women. Just listen to anything by Alanis Morissette, guys, it covers all the bases. I swear.

Overall it was a good day, and with the winter dark here already, hitting that pillow will be wonderful. A special offer of cat food came in the mail, so everyone is chirpy and happy. My Salvador Dali book also arrived, so there's that to page through in fangirl fascination. And oh, tomorrow is Friday. Yippee dang-doo. Maybe tomorrow morning there will be others who will get a secret message from behind the mitten. It's the little things. Sleep well, everyone. Let the winds that travel from hemisphere to hemisphere bring you messages of men, of women, of all of us mid-lateral people who are moving about 900 miles an hour in the great rotation of this planet. Good night.