Real Men

I finished a for-fun book recently, a mystery of the Christian fiction (‘Chick-lit’) genre. I enjoyed the mental break it provided as I left responsibility and serious pursuit to journey into the imaginary world of others. The simple, clean-as-a whistle story unraveled a somewhat predictable plot of intrigue and romance.

I was reminded, however, of how very fictional the book was as I ‘met’ and ‘got to know’ the male characters. Obviously these men were the invention of one who had a firm hold of fantasy and a loose grip of reality.

Such men just don’t exist. I offer the following observations:

1. Real men do not have names like Quinn, Raphael, Marshall or Pierre. The men in my world have names like Jon, Jim, Jerry, Josh & Elmer. Perhaps if one is named Dustin then intuition, sensitivity and relational skills naturally ooze from his designer jean (usually cowboy-booted) being, but it just ain’t so with the normal ‘Bob’s” in my life.


2. Real men do not have jobs that offer unlimited ‘free time’ and bottomless financial resources. I can’t remember the last time any male that I’ve ever known has been able to charter a jet to go do anything, or to move to another location for a period of months because a woman ‘needs’ his rescue and/or protection. My husband & I have trouble just finding an open week to go to the dentist! Just recently he’s told me the best (‘only’) time for us to go to Hawaii for our 25^th anniversary is in the middle of July! (Hawaii in July? That’s part of the 6 weeks when Minnesota is balmy!) And we really only have finances for one of us to go, or for each of us to go for half a week…Where is that cattle-ranch family wealth when you need it?


3. Real men do not buy flashy sports cars for others. Perhaps some of you have had a husband buy you a car (NOTE: there may have been part of him that bought it for both of you, please realize…) But, in the situation I’m referencing, Quinn bought a sports car for a woman, in the flashy color that was her favorite, and plopped it on her doorstep before they had even solidified/declared their serious interest in the other. Maybe, maybe, a real man might offer you his mother’s free (just earned) Mary Kay pink Cadillac if she didn’t’ want it, but even that is a stretch w/CarSoup.com such a handy option.


4. Real men do not first date your two sisters, then pursue you and everyone is fine with the whole situation as if ‘the third time’s the charm’. Did not one of the sisters feel a bit bad about being rejected? If she dumped him, was that not because she overheard the telephone message from his parole officer? Are there not other women in the world, or is it so sparse that one has to date three sisters in the same family? Real men dust off their hands of a family if one sister doesn’t work out, knowing the awkwardness of the second sister asking one day, should things get serious: “So, how was it dating my sister?” There is no safe answer to this question.


5. Real men do not sense a woman’s need intuitively from across town, call at the exact right moment to sensitively (not just inquire, but) diagnose your emotional state, and instantaneously propose the perfect solution to provide balm for your soul. Travis w/the rugged goatee may suggest a Jeep trip to the mountains will break the gloom of your childhood accident trauma after only knowing you for 3 weeks in a book, but a real man will not. After a hairstyle/haircolor change, a real man has a hard time identifying what is different about you, even when asked, and will likely guess, “Have you lost a few pounds?” “Got your facial hair removed?”

My “real man” is an amazing gift in who he is, not because he is able to leap emotional “read my mind & soul” bounds in a single leap, but because he is thoughtful in a thousand less dramatic ways.

He may not be telepathic to discern my soul’s yearning & able to respond with exotic offerings to cure its ail, but where would the fun be in that? I’m sure even sports cars, exotic trips to Paris and Kay jewelry gets old in its time. Plus they do no good when your feet hurt after a long day & you just want a good foot-rub.

A real man knows just how you like your popcorn, whether you like Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi, understands a woman has to burp sometimes, and loves you as he brings the Pepto Bismol & Lysol to you on your sick bed.

I’d not trade a real-life “Jon” for any flashy Gabrielle, Cameron, Philippe or Barry Manilow any day. Even if they did exist....which they don't.

But I guess that’s why they call the book fiction.