A NOTE FROM THE LOVE NEST

A friend sent me one of those snappy little e-mails that tells how to make a woman happy. There were 54 items on the list. It's my understanding that no single one of the items will suffice, that you need to accomplish all of them. In the thundering thickness of my addled and aging brain, I nevertheless can recognize that such a list is bound to offend some people, for example, all women!

(Actually, I know for a fact that at least one thing is missing from the list, but I won't bore you with that detail. To add to a list of insulting things would get me into some deep trouble with Chippie, and I'm always in shallow trouble, already.)

And then, yesterday, I received an email that offered a series of definitions for the letters PMS. They include things like "Pass My Shotgun" and "Psychotic Mood Swings." Talk about playing with fire.

I believe I've fundamentally outgrown the tendency to see myself as part of a gender battle, although those of us of a certain age were raised with that concept. I understand there are lots of people in the next generation who are wiser than I am about this, men who do not stereotype women with PMS, or consider themselves generically at odds.

But I also hear plenty of comments from younger men on the subject, sitting around the bars I frequent. There is some hostility out there.

Women aren't all innocent, either. I get those emails, too, which are offensive to men. I'm actually pleased when I hear women say things like, "Men are always..." or, "Why do men ....?" It helps excuse my past sins.

It could be, that to some extent, these things are a matter of style and class, and not generational at all. Sort of like the difference I've noticed in the way younger people approach writing --- and the words they use. Yep! It's not a lack of communication, it's a difference in approach and usage. So we learn from each other.

Still, I do admit that when I get some really noxious example of male chauvinism through the portal of this computer, I usually pass it on to my good friend Marsha in Carolina because it will annoy her. How's that for fostering friendship? But, I think she understands the game and accepts it. If I show such stuff to Chippie, she clucks her tongue and hits me.

This all reminds me of H.L. Mencken's observation:

Husbands never become good; they merely become proficient.

Um, is that a no-no? I'll have to ask Marsha.