Up here in the High Desert, about 60 miles from the Epicenter, we had a few seconds of rumbling. I continued working, after offering up the customary Laztheist propitiatory prayer for earthquakes, tsunamis and getting rear-ended while not in a car, "Oh, Lhard, what the hell was that?"
This calmed. But my wife, who is prone to being female quite a bit of the time, began calling everyone she knows. It was call after call, exchanging heart-stopping stories of the terror that might have been if it had been a 9.2 earthquake. It was call after call to her girlfriends and female relatives. The only call she made to a male was to our older son, who with the younger boy, is up in San Francisco. He couldn't hear her very well and told her they hadn't felt a thing. He didn't ask any questions so all she could do was hang up. Since the boys take after their even more laconic than Gary Cooper father, this is not the first time they have disappointed her.
I felt not the slightest compulsion to call any of my friends. And obviously they all felt the same lack of impetus.
It's one hell of a sex drive that allows guykind and galkind to overcome a rather obvious disinclination to hang out together. Sex drive and boobs. Nature is a frickin' genius.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Oddly enough, when I read about the quake I thought of you and T! You have brainwashed me. Then I heard there were no casualties and I thought "Screw that, they're probably playing golf anyway!" and went back to making my cake.
You're welcome!
You're right about the ability of sexual urge to overcome the general urge to vomit over the other gender's (specifically the women's) nonsensical behavior.
If a tornado ripped through my city and my name was on some sort of casualty list, the only males that would call are the ones that saw my name and remembered I owed them ten bucks from a card game in 1995.
And of course, I prefer it that way.
Post a Comment