Man is an enigma, too.
I was married to one for 35 years. He never totally understood me, nor I him.
But, as the story goes, after several years of marriage, we became as one.
We could almost read each other's thoughts. He could finish a sentence that I had started.
But we weren't always on the same page.
I would ask, "What do you want for supper?" He'd answer, "I'm not really hungry right now.
So I'd get busy doing something else. Ten minutes later he'd say, "what's for supper?"
"I thought you weren't hungry."
"Well, I am now," he'd say.
My husband liked to putter in his downstairs workshop but he always seemed to need my help.
He'd want me to hold a board he was sawing or hand a screw driver or needle nose pliers to him. If I went back upstairs he'd yell for me to come down and help him again. I figured out that he just wanted company, just wanted me with him.
But hanging around his shop just to be handy when he needed my assistance soon became boring to me. There were lots of chores that I could be doing elsewhere.
Men misplace things. And men like to accuse the missy of losing them; be it the tape measure, his favorite feed cap, his shoes, the remote, his wallet, his eyeglasses or his car keys.
My husband was a fixer. He fixed lots of broken things around our house. Say he was repairing a vacuum cleaner or a radio. He would sit on the floor and scatter parts all over the living room floor. Invariably he would have to leave the room to go get a spare part or another tool.
He would turn to me and say, "Now don't touch anything. Leave everything where it is."
Never had I ever touched his repair work in progress, so I always wondered why he thought it necessary to caution me.
But it happened every time.
I grew up in a generation when most men were spoiled by their well intentioned mamas. Men were waited on hand and foot, doted on, adored.
Girls were taught to cook, sew, clean and cater to the men in the household.
No, men weren't lazy. They worked long hours to support their families.
No man worked harder than my father; hard manual labor. But I never saw him sweep a floor, or cook a meal, or do the laundry.
He would hunt and fish and bring home the bounty for my mother to cook. He sanded and painted our second hand bikes, soldered my broken bracelet, loaded my Kodak camera for me, laid linoleum in our kitchen, fixed flat tires on his pickups, and raised chickens.
Men and women have different interests.
Men like guns, motorcycles, pickups, engines, tractors, ATVs, saws and hammers, big screen TVs, boats and sports.
Women prefer recipes, fashions and hair dos, decorating, flower gardens, babies, girl talk, and George Clooney.
But it is those differences that make life interesting for the sexes.
Viva la the difference.