Men Are From Mars…

I have read the book.

You know the one. Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus.

After more than forty years of marriage, I’m still not entirely sure who lives where, but I can confirm that we are clearly commuting from different planets.

Take driving, for example.

Yesterday, we were returning from seven glorious hours at the beach.

We walked the mile downstream from humanity to read and revel in the beauty of the day. We swam in calm, crystal clear water and enjoyed a lovely  picnic lunch.

Then we drove home. I always drive because my planet spews out superior drivers, except today I was on IR and unable to use my left hand.

Within 60 seconds the water themed spa day relaxation vibe had dissipated.

Honestly, men drive like they are late for a summit meeting with destiny. Every lane change is a strategic maneuver. Every car ahead is either an obstacle or a personal insult. Brakes must be slammed like beer at a frat party.

Men get behind the wheel and forget where they are. Both red and green lights are new experiences causing delayed reflexes.

Women, on the other hand, drive with a broader world view. They notice pedestrians. They anticipate the driver who looks confused. They safely and consistently take the gap. They accelerate at a green light and pace accordingly when seeing red.

While we are on the subject of the male species, let’s talk about crisis management, which is where the real planetary divide reveals itself.

When something goes wrong, men tend to focus on The Fix. The solution. The wrench. The reset button. The urgent Googling of a how to YouTube video.

Women start five steps earlier.

They assess the situation, anticipate consequences, gather information, stabilize the environment, and only then allow the man to apply the wrench.

And then there are directions.

Men believe directions are an affront to their independence. A suggestion at best. A conspiracy at worst.

Women believe in Google maps (no more Waze because they are huge Trump supporters) they plan, and time the trip out.

What continues to astonish me is not that men and women think differently, that part became obvious somewhere around year one of marriage, but that those differences are precisely what make the whole enterprise work.

Men bring optimism, boldness, and the unwavering belief that anything can be fixed.

Women bring memory, strategy, emotional intelligence, and the quiet awareness that the item he is desperately looking for is in the second drawer to the left, under the batteries, next to the thing he swore he put away.

In the end, Mars and Venus seem to have negotiated a long-term alliance.

Not always smooth. Occasionally baffling. Frequently hilarious.

But after all these years, I can report that the planets are still in orbit.

And, perhaps most impressively, still speaking to each other.

In conclusion, I stand by my man as long as he is not driving.