Benefit of the Dowd The year is young, but the most annoying, off-the-mark essay of 2005, and perhaps of the decade, has already been penned. Maureen Dowd’s January 13 op-ed piece in the New York Times, “Men Just Want Mommy,” is a personal lament by the renowned columnist over her social life, which apparently has sunk lower than the dollar. The culprits are men, who find Ms. Dowd too intelligent to hit on. One perusal of her op-ed piece ought to fix that for good. Ms. Dowd, what planet are you from? Because this planet is loaded with men who flaunt their smarter halves. Does the name George W. Bush ring a bell? My male friends are married to economics professors, patent attorneys, ophthalmologists, and software developers. They enjoy how smart their women are, especially when assembling furniture from Ikea. They relish their women troubleshooting the lawnmower in the garage while they catch the second half of The Sopranos. As for me, I married a help desk. And believe me, I need help. When it comes to dealing with a frozen screen, my arsenal is otherwise limited to Ctl-Alt-Del and pulling the plug. Men want women they don’t have to talk to? My wife and I have an 18-year running dialogue on everything from global warming to which of our friends will never get married. In our discussion, there is always hope for folks like you if you stop feeling sorry for yourselves and cast off the force field. See, here’s the deal: So many are so tough, independent, and uncompromising on the outside, and frustration is what they get. They expect to be put up with but are willing to put up with nothing. Dumbfounded, you say, by the occupational status of some of the women who have tied the knot lately? There is nothing quite so humbling in this life as being bested by those you consider to be your inferiors. It brings a cathartic humility—unless the feeling gets distorted in a self-pitying essay that substitutes for self-examination. If you are, as you say, no competition for “secretaries, assistants, nannies, caterers, flight attendants, researchers, and fact-checkers,” whose fault is that? And if we men are all such hapless, orphaned wankers, what exactly does someone of your stature need from the likes of us anyway? Feminism was “some sort of cruel hoax?” What precisely did feminism promise you in the way of marriage? As my daughters hurtle toward dating age, I tell them that they can do anything as well as a man except torture prisoners at Abu-Ghraib, and they’re not too shabby in that department either. I also tell them their eventual husband should respect them, never lay a hostile hand on them, and have some sort of viable vocation not on the receiving end of an FBI wiretap. After that, all bets are off. I do not tell them understanding differential equations or conjugating German verbs is going to bring Mr. Right. Whoever told you anything to that effect was Mr. or Ms. Wrong. The relationship thing requires an open mind and a roll of the dice no matter how few credits shy you are of a doctorate in cybernetics. For someone who savors explaining complexities, you have lost sight of the ones staring you in the face. Men do want mommy. They want mommy to be mommy. They want their wives to be mommy 20 minutes a day when they can’t find the blue pinstripe shirt. At other times, they want their wives to be physical therapists, dieticians, concubines, and real estate agents. Depending on the hour, women may want their husbands to be swimsuit models, English lit professors, jocks, entrepreneurs, raconteurs, or jazz drummers. Andrea Dworkin can no more guide you through these turbulent waters than Armstrong Williams can coach you on ethics in journalism. A study or two proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that a high IQ hampers a woman’s chance to get married? A semester of psych or statistics would tell you the cause and effect of this hypothesis might be reversed. Maybe your extra IQ points make you more selective. How many plumbers have you dated? How many mechanics? How many firemen, high school football coaches, bartenders, and Foot Locker franchise owners? Why do we know the answers are zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero? Why do we not feel sorry for you? Word to the wise—your odds will go way up the moment you drop that long checklist. Or at least thin it out. Take heart—I guarantee you your disaffected male counterpart is out there. The question is, when you meet him, will you checklist each other out of contention? You could have been the fifth wheel in Sex and the City. For all you know, Big already shares your op-ed page. First episode: “Is it possible to find your equal when you are certain he doesn’t exist?” A little shoe shopping, clubbing, Ecstasy popping, and a contraceptive mishap, and we’ve got ourselves an episode. Why don’t you put a personal ad in the Voice and leave us alone? Or try a singles weekend in the Catskills for syndicated columnists. Maybe Tucker Carlson digs older women. I’m sure eHarmony.com has a couple of hunky philosophy professors in their 30s, living on the East Coast, looking for Mrs. Robinson, and requiring no maintenance other than an occasional discussion of Sartre post-climax. And while you’re at it, lay off Mom. Unless followed by the f-word, mother is no pejorative. My mom was an accountant. My step-mother is a psychoanalyst. Together, they could nurse a man through tax season. And in the future, please stick to documenting how we were misled into Iraq and how the right’s agenda is largely hypocrisy. It’s easier to read how we were screwed than how you were not. Perhaps I have taken your diatribe too personally. After all, I am a veteran of nearly two decades of dishwashing, bed-making, diapering, and school pick-ups. Sure I want mommy—so badly, I have become mommy. If you ever need to get blood stains out of 50 percent cotton, 50 percent rayon, call me on the cell. Still, I have not entirely lost the ability to feel sympathy for Pulitzer Prize winning writers coming off a sterile Christmas. Maureen, are you having fun? When was the last time you got wasted at a tailgate party or played strip poker? Probably much too long ago. Do you really believe we of the XY chromosome are universally such dumb blonde chasers? Or did you have a bad day and just want daddy? Click here to rant back. |