Men haven't changed in 125,000 years.

Men haven't changed in 125, OOO years. My wife surprised me last night. So, I was surprised and, adhering to the code of men over the past 125,000 years I am supposed to be miffed and put off and a bit testy and out of sorts over this out-of-the-ordinary circumstance. All my survival instincts are supposed to kick in now, but I think I am becoming civilized. Who knew?

Civilization hasn't made any inroads into the way men in general really think about themselves, that is if they do really think about themselves, and there is considerable doubt about that, which is why there are women. Without women, men would still be living in cliffside caves using piles of bones for furniture. There would be television, beer and basketball, but people would be naked and not for the fun reasons to be naked. They would be naked because it would never occur to a man that clothes would be necessary to one's life. A big haunch of some bovine creature? Yes. A good looking set of skins made from the same creature... not so much. Which is probably what happened on that long ago day after the man finished skinning the big horned elks and left the pile of hides right in the doorway of the cave. A woman passed by and said "Say, that's a great color!! And look at the texture!!" To which the man replied, "Huh?"

A couple of weeks later she showed up with a buckskin shirt and a pair of leggings which helped define his shoulder size and accentuate the length of his lower limbs.
"Me no like surprises." said the man.
"I think you do." she said.
She was right, he was just talking like a man.

Fast forward 125,264 years, three months and one day. I have lost a lot of weight, about thirty five pounds. Nothing I have in the way of clothes fits me, even the suit I bought (kicking and screaming) for the high school reunion hangs off of me.

For five hundred "What would a man do?" points, answer this question:

How much clothing have I given or thrown away?

A) I have completely re-done my closet and sent the suit out to be altered.

B) I have sorted out the really worn, stained and torn stuff, tossed them and bundled up the rest for Goodwill then proceeded to the various stores to replenish my wardrobe.

C) I have given it much thought but only thrown away some really huge underwear that kept bunching up in the wrong places to be bunched up.

The answer,(uh, time's up men, there are no more choices like D) waited until my jeans actually fell off my ass while crossing the street before thinking about going to the Gap.) is C which is why men must be married to someone as good to them as my wife is to me.

I get home last night and piled on my desk chair where I would be sure to see them, before I checked my very critical and extremely important emails about crap, was the modern equivalent of the above buckskin shirt and leggings. There were many shirts, there were many shirts that are so cool. Very summery, and nothing like I would pick out for myself. She got jeans too and some khakis and some shirts to wear under the shirts and, of course, everything goes with everything else. (There must be some gene men do not have that allows women to match up the unmatchable.) I left out the pictures of the jeans and the slacks, although to her the jeans are mui mui important. I HAVE some jeans that are only nine years old that I have had up in the closet all that time... oh, never mind, that's just me talking again. The new jeans make me look taller. What is the magic of fashion?

What kind of question is that?

Anyway, tonight after Sixty Minutes and before Monday's big basketball final, I am going to go through my closet and clear out a bunch of stuff. I have that gray suit that I haven't worn in ten years that I will only need if I get to play a murder suspect on Law and Order. That should go. Oh, and there's the thirty two sweaters, one of which I have had since high school, no, not since the 40th high school reunion, since the actual high school. It's nicely folded. There's a couple of pairs of corduroys that would fit me and another half of me, and some tee-shirts originally worn when we were protesting the last war. Apparently they are still chanting"Hell no, we won't go."

===

Out on the African plain, somewhere back in time, a man pulls the woven shirt over the buckskin jersey. He asks the immortal question: "Do I wear the collar in or out?" Men have never known the answer, women always have.