Just One of the Guys by Geoff Pool
Posted By Melissa Bartell on January 22, 2010
There are many things in this life I have never experienced. I pride myself in being fairly open minded and willing to experiment. I think it gives me a greater appreciation for seeing the world through another person’s eyes. It makes me well rounded; more so than you might say if you met me in person.
But in my heart of hearts, there are things I just don’t know anything about. Asking me about Revlon will draw a blank stare. The only difference between a handbag that costs $5.00 and one that costs $5,000.00 is the return on equity I’m losing with the latter. The effervescence fragrance of Coco Chanel is beautiful, but don’t ask me to describe whether or not it will turn on my skin.
Just one of the guys, I suppose.
And as I ponder the question more deeply, there are things I’ve decided I don’t really want to know.
I don’t want to know what it feels like to run in high heels wearing a little black dress. I don’t want to know the qualities that make a good bra fit correctly. I don’t really want to know how to decide between pads or tampons.
And above all else, I’m really disturbed about knowing how to sit in a stirrup.
For those fellows who aren’t blessed to be married to a beautiful lady (like me), a stirrup is device used for gynecological exams. Basically, you sit in it on your back while someone else leans over the most private part of your body. Well engineered and very useful, I’m told, for performing gynecology exams.
I’ve also been told it is very humiliating.
It is also quite helpful for when a woman is undergoing a Machine Vacuum Aspiration Procedure.
For us guys, that’s a fancy phrase for having an abortion.
I’ve read in the past accusations about women having abortions in an almost reflexive fashion. Almost, but not quite, akin about whether it’s a pants day or a little black dress day. Are heels or flats in style when we arrive? And do we go shopping for handbags or perfume after we leave the clinic?
I’ve been privileged to know and love two women who had abortions. In both cases, the painful truth was not pants, dresses, heels, handbags or perfume. It was at best a dark room, teddy bear and blankets.
At worst, it was sedatives and alcohol. Or simply a small razor and some hot water in a sink.
I can’t place a word or phrase on something I cannot experience. I will never have a Machine Vacuum Aspiration Procedure. I will never give birth to a beautiful child who only wanted to be loved.
And because I can’t experience both sides of the same coin makes me feel wholly unqualified to decide it for someone else. If it was truly God who decided these things long before I came along, then who am I to put words in God’s mouth and tell any woman she can’t decide these things for herself.
And when it comes right down to it, just about the only brave thing I could do is to gather some courage. Gather some courage to sit in the stirrup for a little while.
After all, I’m just a guy.
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