The holiday-test disintegrates ties cemented by years of cohabitation and marriage, let alone newly begun love stories.
«He told me he doesn’t feel like spending the holidays with me. He said he loves me, but that he feels he needs to be with his ex rights now».
My friend sits meek and heartbroken on the grass. Fortunately, it’s summer, the holidays have just begun and the unbearable heat forces us all to live outside, or she would have spent the next fifteen days locked in her room weeping.
«And what else did he tell you?»
«That if only we’d met earlier, that he loves me but…»
«But it’s the bullshit handbook !»
She looks at me carefully, distracted for a moment from her love sickness.
At this point in life, I’m somewhat of an expert on the bullshit handbook, so I crafted a fairy tale on the subject, for those moments where binging on ice-cream, weeping and curling up in bed just isn’t enough.
So, in practice, things went something like this. When God brings a new creature into the world, he asks his assistant: «Is it a male or a female?» «a male, Sir.» «Well then» says God, «pass me the bullshit handbook» So the assistant hands him a syringe that contains a file filled with a series of effective sentences. Those phrases that every single male, and I mean even the best ones, will sooner or later give us as an excuse. The handbook contains genius expressions like «I haven’t slept with my ex in months» (and the following week she ends up pregnant), «I like you, but it’s not right for me now…», «I don’t deserve you/you deserve better», «Pity we didn’t meet at a different time», the laughable classic «It’s not you, it’s me» and finally the laudable «You still matter to me».
The reoccurring and world-wide common use of these phrases evidences that the use of trivial and obnoxious excuses is congenital to the male gender, that it comes from the dark, deep, depths of the cosmos, just like the difference between chromosomes X and Y.
You may spend hours pouring your heart and soul into self-help books such as “Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars”, you may spend countless nights tossing and turning trying to make sense of his excuses, feeling as agitated as popcorn in the microwave, but the truth is that no matter what we do:
Men are simply born this way, it’s not our fault.