I’m a guy. Luckily for my wife, I’ve always been a guy. I know about guy stuff. Between my dad and two younger brothers, we’ve got everything under the ‘umbrella of dude knowledge’ covered. We know construction, fishing, sports and on occasion, when a situation demands it, unhooking bras with our teeth.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re not savages. I’m not the result of some freak clinical testosterone lab study gone wrong or anything. I’m not covered in fur or rip the legs off wild rabbits and eat them for dinner. Hell, I might even be considered a renaissance man. I mean, I’m a stay-at-home dad. I cook, clean and run errands. I go into my daughter’s closet every morning and find a hair ribbon that matches her shirt and pants and ties the whole ensemble together.
However…that’s about as far as I can make it. It’s almost as if my world of ‘lady knowledge’ is flat and if we went any further, I’d just fall into the abyss.
With the things that are beyond my realm of comprehension, I can only make guesses.