Frailty, thy name is woman. Hamlet said that, but what did he really know about women? To the best of our knowledge he only knew two women and they both died. One committed suicide, the other drank poison. If that’s your point of reference, then sure, but then again, according to that criteria, everybody except Horatio qualified as pretty dang frail.
Death can be a sign of frailty, yes, but not necessarily. John Wayne died in The Cowboys, and nobody ever accused him of frailty--at least not in person. You know what else they didn’t accuse him of? They never accused him of being a woman. So, maybe Hamlet is right. Maybe it’s true. Why don’t you test that for me. Somebody go to MyEx. Call her frail. If she doesn’t hogtie and brand you, they you’re right.
I was watching The Cowboys on TV yesterday, and I saw a commercial. There was this older couple, and by older I mean they looked at least 6 months older than me. Now they were on TV, so I couldn’t chainsaw them in half and count their rings. So, no, I can’t be sure, but I can say with some confidence: yup, older.
Anyway, the older couple had a young Hamlet of their own. Hamlet rushes into the kitchen where mom and dad are sipping Metamucil.
“Mom! Dad!” He says, “Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark, and I think you’re drinking it! Oh yeah, and I’ve been accepted at PolyTech.”
Mom and dad are overjoyed. I don’t know why. They should be concerned: their son has just been accepted at a non-existent school. He’s either really gullible or delusional. Neither option points to a profitable future.
After Hamlet runs off to consider what he wants to be or not to be, dad looks to mom with woeful eyes, “I don’t know how we can afford this.” Well, I sigh, I see where Hamlet got his gullibility: imaginary school is pretty cheap, and he can ride Mr. Roger’s trolley to the land of make-believe for class.
Mom touches Dad’s arm and says, “We’ll think of something,” and spoons a little rat poison into Dad’s drink.
Mom and Dad dissolve and up comes the product pitch: Just For Men, hair-care product.
Wha?
Now call me simple--No, don’t. That’s just a saying. I’m not simple. Ask MyEx, she’ll tell you that I really am complex and high maintenance. Anyway, how does a hair coloring pay for an imaginary college? I’d have understood if they were pitching Extenze. At least then Dad’s added size would get him night work…
I think that proves how vain we men really are. If we’re willing to believe our income will shift because the color of our hair, shouldn’t we just turn grey and die? I mean if we’re that vain, why not just lie in front of the next lion that comes along.
“Eat me.”
The gene pool would thank you.
So this leads me to my next problem. If frailty is woman and vanity is man, how the heck to we expect to get together and make it work? I mean women would spend their whole lives dying while men wasted away primping for the funeral in front of the mirror.
“I hope your death doesn’t give me frown lines.”
It’s too much pressure. No wonder there’s a 50 percent divorce rate. How can we get past all this? Hamlet certainly didn’t have a clue.
If you believe the TV ad, they did. Their young Hamlet graduated from college. And mom and dad whooped it up in the audience. Actually mom whooped. Dad was looking a little green, but his hair looked awesome.
We guys are bad, and yeah, I step up to the line too. My hair is fine, and I have good genes. I won’t be going bald anytime real soon. Still, I notice every time I walk pas the hall bathroom, I see this older guy in the mirror.
Alas young Robby, I knew him well…
I mean my foot isn’t in the grave yet, and MyEx isn’t around to serve me bitter almond coffee anymore, but still. That dude in the mirror looks old. And when he drops his pants. I don’t want to complain, but there is a product on TV that will enhance that reflection.
Object in mirror should be larger than it appears.
See? Sign me up, I’m just as vain as the next guy. And frail? Yeah, that was MyEx. She divorced me. What other proof do you need?
So where is this all going? Nowhere. I’m just wondering how when frailty and vanity marry, some subjects keep it together. I mean my parents have been together for 35 years. How did that happen? I came from my Dad’s seed of vanity, what makes him so special?
Maybe I should call him up and have him bottle it. Well, not the vanity seed, the whatever keeps my parents together. I don’t really want him bottling the other thing. Cuz yeah, even with all their flaws (and let me tell you, they have plenty) they’ve stayed together.
Maybe it’s matching the corresponding frailty with the appropriate vanity. Maybe they’re like the Yin and Yang swirling around a primordial marital pool holding it together. All I know, is that I want that, but how do I assure I get that, and not Hamlet act III?
The Cowboys came back from commercial break, and offered me some insight: There are no women. That’s right. It’s all cowboys. No wonder Bruce Dern is so nasty. Where’s his Ophelia? If I’m alone on the range for years without a woman I’m gonna shoot John Wayne too. Ok, so it would be easier for me now that he’s dead, but still, I’d do it. Don’t test me.
I guess that’s it. I’m not willing to live without the frailty, so I’m going to need to find a woman who loves me for my vanity. I think that’s gonna be pretty tough.
I better go brush up on my Shakespeare. Maybe I should read Romeo and Juliet. That has a promising title.
No comments:
Post a Comment