As Mary said in the movie Hancock, "call me crazy. . . one more time."
What does every man, without fail, say about any one of his exes? "She was crazy." In fact, someone just yesterday said I've lost my mind. Have I? Of course not. Was I even angry with him? A little, but I was more hurt and flabbergasted that we'd had a conversation a mere two hours earlier. . . and because he wanted to do what he wanted to do, caring about whether or not I could take care of things didn't matter to him. I didn't even yell at him; I cried. But sure enough, I've lost my mind, at least in his pea brain.
Have you ever listened to men tell stories about an ex and ever wondered if she really was crazy? Or did he make her that way? It's easy for people to listen to what our friends tell us about the person aggravating us and for us to take sides. But often, I listen to my guys and my cousins and my brother talk about how crazy so-and-so was, and I've thought, "What the hell did you do to her to make her act that way?"
I have theories on this, so men, this one's for you. Sit down, shut up and hang on for the ride.
As men, certain things are expected of you. Your role in society isn't that difficult. We expect you to support the family. We expect you to fart, scratch your balls, stare at the waitress' ass, belch in public, watch nothing but ESPN for the entire year, sit on your dead butt and play video games while we do all the housework and parenting and everything else, go out and get drunk with the boys, go to strip clubs, pee on the toilet seat and/or the bathroom rug, have no manners, etc. These days we don't even expect you to be able to maintain the cars or the house because those skills went out the window for most "men" about the same time my daddy turned 21. Your mothers have pampered you until we're lucky if you can hold a job, but that's another issue. We expect you to be inattentive to us and the kids. We expect you to "forget" our birthdays, anniversarys, etc. We expect you to treat us like dirt in front of your friends.
As women, our role in society is, at the very least, ten times more difficult. Back in the Leave it to Beaver days, Mrs. Cleaver took care of Ward, Wally & Beav, the house, all the grocery shopping, all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, clothes shopping, charity work, errands, etc., all in a dress, heels and hose. Most of you gents haven't ever worn those three items, but let me assure you, it isn't comfortable.
Now, not only are we expected to do all of the above, we now also work full-time, make sure all the bills are paid, take off work when our babies are sick, take them to the doctor, and do 98% of the parenting, including discipline, we do all the Christmas/birthday shopping, even for your family, and let's be honest, we don't like every member of your family, and we're supposed to do this with a big fat smile on our faces, while you guys sit around and do whatever you feel like doing and screw up another generation of boys by leading them to believe it's okay for you to be selfish assholes because someone is always going to come behind you and clean up your mess after you have a tantrum. And let's not forget that thanks to Xbox, we now get to do ALL the work in our relationships, too. Or at least we try, but remember, you aren't listening.
So guess what happens? We get more and more and more fed up with you until we start screaming. And how do you react? "Whoa. . . stop acting crazy!" And just like Mary said, all we can think is: call me crazy. . .One. More. Time. And I'll show you crazy, you jerk.
The truth is that we aren't crazy in the slightest. There is not one single thing wrong with getting mad. You push us and push us and push us some more until we hit the ceiling and yell and slam doors (there is something SO satisfying about slamming a door) and cry. Just like you, we can only handle so much. The difference is that we tolerate a lot -- A LOT -- more BS than you ever will because while you're blowing off steam with a first person shooter game for 17 hours straight, we're pulling the weight for the entire family. And while we're pulling our weight and yours, instead of being showered with love, attention and having you thank us for our hard work, at the end of the day, when we can't take your BS, your mother's BS, your friends' BS, you just call us crazy.