I like to think I get most things about Dudes. I certainly have enough male friends and brothers to serve as testament to this. I don't make a point of toilet seat etiquette. I understand that the vast majority of men don't want to watch Hairspray with me until four in the morning. I realize that if my boyfriend looks like he is having a poetic thought, he probably isn't. See? I get things. I'm savvy. A modern woman.
Here are things I will never get.
Meat on Pizza
Everytime I order a pizza with a Dude, I discover very quickly that my Mediterranean cheese circle is being quickly hi-jacked by a host of dead animals. Now, don't get me wrong here: I love eating dead animals. But I also firmly believe that a perfect pizza is all about balance. There is, at all times, a very precise pizza feng-shui at work, in which meat and vegetable must life in perfect harmony.
Ham and pineapple is yin and yang. Ham and pepperoni and salami is taking the piss.
The guy taking your pizza order is not questioning your masculinity. There is no need for you to be overcompensating this much.
I don't know if this is a universal feeling, but I seem to know a disproportionate amount of Dudes who get a euphoric amount of enjoyment from drinking massive amounts of milk. What is this about? Milk, for me, is good in coffee, great in cereal and that's about it. As an independent beverage, it's kind of yucky. What's going on here? Is it because it reminds you of boobs? Is that why you like it?
All the really dudey dudes I know - like, the ones who do sport and all that - seem to share a peculiar habit. They'll be sitting on the couch, having a perfectly normal conversation, and then, quite out of nowhere, they'll put their hand under their own t-shirt. At first you think it's to adjust clothing or something, but then they'll just leave it there. Their hand just sits, over their ribcage and under their clothes, doing nothing in particular. I used to think I was the only person who noticed this, until I mentioned it to another female friend. She immeaditly responded "Ugh, if I have to see Kev's belly button hair one more time while I'm trying to have a conversation with him, he is getting a slap."
I used to think that no-one could possibly hate Beyoncé Knowles. How could you? Aside from being one-half of the second most powerful African-American couple in the world, she is beautiful and talented, classy and sassy. You couldn't not fancy her. At the very least, you have to admire her as a performer.
However, I seem to know an astounding amount of guys who not only don't love Beyoncé, but actively dislike her as a public figure. What in the hell is this about? What is the excuse for this?
I actually did a poll with all the men I work with, all of whom maintained that Beyoncé is a wreck-head. Well, all of whom except for Barry, who doesn't seem to hate anything. Even more depressingly, when asked follow-up questions all of the dudes claimed that while they didn't like Beyoncé, they had plenty of time for Rihanna. Like, what? What is this?
I maintain that men are frightened of Beyoncé. While Rihanna is happy to cast herself as an occasionally fetishized sexual plaything, with Beyoncé you really don't know what you're getting. I mean, you could get her on a day when Beyoncé is just Beyoncé, a proud, classy lady who will only tolerate being made exquisite love to. Or you could get her when she's being Sasha Fierce, in which case SHUT THE FUCK UP and SIT THE FUCK DOWN.