why men will never understand women: a short story


I am in a very bad mood today.

My brother and I are in our little yellow car on the way to his Wall Climbing physical education class, and we are running late. The digital clock on the dashboard reads ten minutes past ten.

"That's ten minutes now," I say, somewhat unnecessarily, and he grunts slightly in acknowledgment.

There is a very large girl with very large breasts jogging on the sidewalk just up ahead. My brother cranes his neck and the car suddenly slows down considerably.

I raise an eyebrow and resist the impulse to ask him to run her over.

She is my boyfriend's ex-pseudo girlfriend. The pseudo part would probably be the fact that it was just sex.

Our car is now keeping perfect pace with her.

I watch as her chest bounces upwards and sideways, pendulum-like, as she moves into perfect wind-sprint form. Her very white skin has turned slightly golden under the hot sun, and there is a fine sheen of perspiration that makes her skin glow.

I am in a very, very bad mood today.

"You're late," I snap irritably.

My brother has, by now, lost himself in a world that is comprised of several women who look exactly like big boobies over there, and has promptly forgotten that I exist.

I lean over and whap him on the upside of his head.

"Ow," he mutters, and pulls his gaze back to the road. "I was just trying to read the quote on her shirt…"

"Those are sweat stains."

"Ah."

There is dead silence in the next five minutes that it takes to reach the local Power-Up.

We grab our gear and practically run into class.

The instructor raises an eyebrow at our entrance and my brother shrugs slightly and points in my direction.

"Is it okay if my sister sits in?"

"Right. Get your harness and start climbing. You're half an hour late."

I open my mouth to say that no, actually he's twenty-two minutes late, but my brother gives me a warning glance and I keep my mouth shut.

I sit myself down in a white plastic chair in the corner and watch as my brother puts his harness on and attaches the cord to the tether around his waist.

He starts up one of the more difficult climbs and is handy enough at it that it cheers me up some. Then he reaches the halfway point where you're supposed to leap frog from one handhold to the next one-- four feet away.

He crouches, coils, and jumps.

For a split second, I almost think that he's going to make it. Then his hand grabs four inches short of the plastic green lump and he falls, butt first, into a small crowd of his classmates below.

I wince.

Then he straightens up and helps the girl he landed on to her feet. She smiles, says its ok, half-turns in my direction, and I almost fall off my chair.

She is lean and muscular, with short black hair and a pixie-like face.

She is also my boyfriend's ex-pseudo girlfriend. The pseudo part would probably be the fact that it was just sex.

I suddenly remember that I am in a very bad mood today.

By the time my brother has finished his assigned five climbs, I have turned several shades of red.

Miss Athletic over there has climbed twice the number of walls assigned, two of which were nicknamed "Psycho" and "You've Got To Be Kidding Me". Not to mention the fact that she is wearing some small, tight, shiny thing that, if I didn't eat for two weeks and did aerobics every single day, I still wouldn't fit in.

I do not speak to him as we get into the car.

"So," he says, sneaking a sideways glance at me. "Are you interested in trying out?"

Not even if I was being consumed from the inside out by Brazilian fire ants.

Out loud, I say, "I don't think it's my kind of sport, ok?"

He shrugs slightly and pulls up in front of the corner McDonald's."Is this ok?"

I grunt and wrench open the door.

Five minutes later I am packing away a double cheeseburger and a large root beer, thinking that, maybe, just maybe, this day isn't going to be so bad, after all.

My brother scoops a french fry through ketchup and sticks it half-way into his mouth.

"What?" I ask, as he nods in the direction of the door.

"Geez, talk about summer wear…" he mutters.

Two anorexic-looking model-types are standing in the doorway, scantily clad in tiny shorts and tube tops.

I spray root beer all over my brother's tray.

He makes a disgusted face. "I didn't think you'd be that upset."

"It's not what they're wearing," I sigh, wiping at the mess. "I know those girls."

They are my boyfriend's ex-pseudo girlfriends. The pseudo part would probably be the fact that it was just sex. At the same time.

"Can we go now?"

My brother has given up trying to understand me after seventeen years. Now he just stands up.

"Right."

"Drop me off at the library, ok? I'm supposed to meet my boyfriend there in fifteen minutes."

The ride is brief and uneventful.

I am in a very, very, very bad mood.

"Bye," I say, and watch as our car putters down the street.

My boyfriend is smiling as I drop into the chair next to him, and I think, yeah, if I'd slept with half the world, I'd be smiling, too.

I shred the bit of notebook paper in front of me. Why can't he read my mind? Men should be able to read all women's minds. That way they would automatically know when we've had a bad hair day, when we've had a fight with our best friend, or when we've just run into four of their ex-pseudo girlfriends in the same day!!

His smile wavers slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"

"I don't know," I say coolly. "Did you?"

He tilts his head to the side and looks at me through narrowed eyes.

"Quit that," I mutter, glaring at some fixed, random point behind him.

"Honey?"

"Yeah?" I snap, grumpy as hell.

"I love you."

…

I am in a very good mood today.

*fin