Ivy Roller

Without me, Jack would likely make it past the first date with a woman or finally receive that promotion at work.  Without me, he’d probably not feel the need to get loaded on liquid courage to help him feel more at ease when in the company of attractive women or even men whom he feels threatened by.  Oh but wait… there’s that pesky catch-22 that Jack hates me so much for!  With me as inherent to his existence as oxygen, he feels threatened by everyone!  Male or female, genius or jerk, with me on board Jack spends most of his waking existence overcompensating for the fact that he’s plagued by me.  Heh, heh, poor schmuck — the harder he tries to hide me from people so they won’t discover his “dirty little secret”, the more obvious it is to them, dates and colleagues alike!  If I only left the impression that I’m simply an annoying or embarrassing problem for Jack he might at least be taken pity upon.  Instead I’m the underlying force driving his inappropriate behavior consistently earning him snickering and criticism behind his back from most of the ladies, and choice comments and nicknames from most of the men.

Ultimately, I confuse Jack; as I complicate nearly every facet of his life, unbeknownst to him of course.  Without me he’d actually have a relatively solid sense of self.  It wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t the most confident guy around, he’d at least have a fundamental sense of who he is and an awareness of what his innate abilities and flaws are, regardless of how developed either of them may be.  In reality however, I make Jack try to be all things to all people.  With me by his side he can never respond to a question by simply saying “I don’t know.” even if he has no idea what the answer is.  With me he is always trying to impress everyone; he is desperate for recognition, praise, acceptance; perhaps all of the above, and it shows.

Without me he could respond to a few sentences without seeming inappropriately excited, would know when the natural conclusion of the brief exchange was, and wouldn’t feel compelled to prove his vast understanding and knowledge about the correlation between worms and rain, in the case of a simple comment about the rainy weather that day.  Without me he could engage in a lengthy conversation and spend equally as much time listening as he does speaking, and wouldn’t feel it necessary to “one-up” the person talking with him, nor would he feel the need to have the last word.

With me the company he keeps, Jack is shooting himself in the foot.  Time, and time again.  He doesn’t know how not to try too hard to keep me a secret, and ironically this is how I am so easily discovered.  Without me, Jack could very well build and sustain relationships, both personal and professional.  The reason for this is yet another practice in irony — Jack could more easily relate to other people by simply being human and clearly displaying his strengths and weaknesses.  As opposed to giving everybody the impression that he’s a know-it-all, arrogant jerk who’s not only been there/done that, but did it faster, harder, longer, and stronger.

Finally, without me, Jack might not have thought it necessary to lie about his height by telling his date he was 5′ 10″, prompting his 5′ 5″ date to remark he was clearly not 5′ 10″, as he stood shorter than her in the 5″ stilettos she wore that evening; and subsequently, without me, he probably wouldn’t have launched into a tirade about methodically measuring himself every day and proceeded to sulk like a child until his date abandoned him at the table.

Filed under: Men by cindy