Thursday, March 22, 2007

inhibited love

My friend Cheryl sent me the following story:

It doesn't hurt to take a hard look at yourself from time to time, and this should help get you started. During a visit to the mental asylum, a visitor asked the Director what the criterion was which defined whether or not a patient should be institutionalized.

"Well," said the Director, "we fill up a bathtub, then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the patient and ask him or her to empty the bathtub."

"Oh, I understand," said the visitor. "A normal person would use the bucket because it's bigger than the spoon or the teacup."

"No." said the Director, "A normal person would pull the plug. Do you want a bed near the window?"

Sex is not unlike work: people hate it. Yeah I know, we don't hate sex per se, but talk to the gynecologist of your choice and she'll tell you how frustrated women are with their sex lives or the lack thereof. Talk to the average guy and you'll hear a similar response from the husbands of these complaining women. As frustrated as the girls are, as bored and dissatisfied are their faithful husbands. And both parties hate their jobs. No, there is no connection between love life and work life, or is there?

People don't hate their spouses and my wild guess is, we don't really hate our jobs either: what we really really hate beyond anything else are our inhibitions. As in the joke above, we spend years and decades choosing between spoons and buckets, but we're scared shitless to pull the plug. Yep, that's "normal" and equally insane in people's sex lives and at work.

So many guys are afraid to tell the missus flat out what they desire sexually. Chicks want their men to be psychics and mind readers who figure out nonverbally what is expected of them. And? ... Nothing exciting or pleasurable happens for a long time. How surprising!

Confining ourselves to fabulous cubicle careers, we don't even have the balls to tell OURSELVES what we want to do with our lives or what we once dreamed of. Instead, tolerant domesticated dumbasses that we are, we dutifully hate our jobs and we're looking forward to the upcoming weekend and to early retirement—decade after decade. Duh.

Truth is, we defend our inhibitions as religiously as we despise them.

I'll give you a choice: enjoy my condolences or pull the damned plug.

Egbert

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