The dictator-woman. She doesn’t have a mustache, but she has the lead. She knows everything; he knows… nothing. Nothing the right way. What do you mean, the right way? I mean, the way she does things, what’s so hard to understand? The table is to be set up in a certain way, the T-shirts to be folded in a certain way, the carpet must be vacuumed from left to right, the slippers for inside the house are slippers for inside the house, the ones for the balcony are slippers for the balcony, what’s so hard to understand for God’s sake?
Hitler is a small child next to the dictator-woman. She hunts the “sucker” daily, constantly, several times a day, sometimes for a lifetime. Trying to exterminate him. Or to “extermutate” him as a guy once said on the bus. In the beginning, she teaches him with care, love, and understanding. The “sucker” smiles and seems to understand. Until next time, when she takes him in front of the class.
– Tell me, honey-bunny, lovey-dovey, cupcake, muffin, buttercup, how did you learn to fold your T-shirts?
Oopss… The young man smiles dumbly and tries to make peace. She, still at the beginning of the road, shows him once again, patiently. The young man smiles with one eye at the TV and seems to understand. Until next time. When she looks in the closet and faints. What do you think? The T-shirts he folded are not packed according to German standards established in the house they pay together.
– Nein, nein, nein! You got a D, go back to your seat, you animal, you haven’t learned anything!
And she starts to take the weapons out. And shoot the sucker (metaphorically, yeah?). But not in the head. Not in his arms. Cause, well, he has to go to work. And to fold the T-shirts when he gets home from work. So he still needs arms. Shoot him in something he doesn’t need anymore. Aim for the balls! Once, twice, seven billion times. Day after day. He can take it: he used to have big balls…
Shoot with rules after rules, some better than others. Logical and efficient anyway. I forgot to say that the dictator-woman is not a bad woman. On the contrary. The dictator-woman is in each of us, more or less. We each have an inner Hitler mustache, inherited or acquired. Some wax it, some let it grow. The dictator-woman is an exceptional mother and wife. And she loves the “sucker.” In her own way. It’s just that she has a chart she works by. And she doesn’t understand why he doesn’t understand that her chart can make their life easier. If it doesn’t destroy their life.
– He understands, woman, but he doesn’t care!
– Aha, so he doesn’t care about me!
– No, woman, he doesn’t care about the chart. He cares about you; that’s why he’s still trying, even after you shot him in the balls!
After a while, it seems as if he’s starting to come around. Cause usually the dictator-woman has a good eye. Chooses a nice guy. Who obeys. To keep peace in the house. Cause he also realizes that he is not that good at doing stuff. Although he vaguely remembers that he seemed to be pretty good at doing stuff before he met her. Anyway, now he does it half as good. But that’s still not good enough. It needs to be better, even though sometimes the better of the good might be worse. This is how he is, slower. And she is speedy Gonzales. So speedy and multi-tasking that, while shooting him, she ends up doing everything by herself, to show the stupid fool how to do the job. And after that, she reproaches him for not helping her! Cause if she doesn’t do the stuff, no one will do it, and the house will fall on them.
Woman, I wonder how you chose him stupid as he is. And insensitive on top of that. And especially how do you explain to yourself that the fool of fools who cannot do anything right managed to survive for about 25-35 years until he met you, the savior. And, most of all, how did he manage to conquer you as stupid as he is. And, most of all, do you still need him? Cause some women like this kind of stupid men. Stupid good, that is, even as ball-less as you left him.
Ah, you still need him? And he is not that stupid? And he helps you as he good as he knows? Then let him! Not to another! Let him help you. To find solutions. On his own. In a join rhythm… neither his nor yours. Just relax, sit back and remember: he survived before you and can do it after you, just as well. With you, though, he may not. Cause you’re trying to “extermutate” him.
