Women of the wooden table.

Outnumbered, vulnerable, and frightened I sat amongst the enemy. One of four, the only man in the group, I was an honorary chick this ladies night. Four bottles of wine, three women and too many laughs led me to finally understand the appeal I have always wondered about; although as men, generally, honestly, we selfishly love ladies night. Yes, nothing spells love like a Monday night football game left alone to watch, scratch our ass, drink beer, and eventually fart. The latter generally requires, by man law, to rate said gas based solely upon the unwritten law of stank. Unbelievably, the night Brett Favre torched the Green Bay Packers, a man of men night, I drank wine and had a wonderful evening. It was therapeutic, if not liberating. An evening, I heartily admit, far better than sharing the evening with an overworked counselor who would rather be any where but in her office listening to the same crap she heard last week- and the week before. It was liberating, but more importantly I was free; free of the unknown, free of stereotypes and denial. In one evening I was educated into the mind of a woman that I had never known before. I hope, with any luck, they left thinking the same as I. Turnabout is fair play after all. On second thought, I don’t care.

In the journey of life we find ourselves in situations we will never forget. This night was indeed was one of these nights. I thank the woman of the rounded table for enlightenment for sharing in ways of honesty I could have not imagined. It isn’t manly, I am not even sure it is legal under man law, but the simple truth is I am a better MAN for being there.