Last weekend the GF called to breathlessly inform me that I have a famous phone number...sort of. She had tried to call me earlier that day, but got the area code of my regular number confused with that of my work number*. When the person on the other end picked up, he answered “Hello, Jim Carrey here”. The GF was so surprised by this that she stammered something about having the wrong number and got off the phone. When I asked if his voice sounded like that of the Jim Carrey she said she couldn’t really remember.
Now, to be fair, if I were in her place I’d be confused too. “Here I am, calling my boyfriend to see how his day went and to bask in the warming rays of his adoration when suddenly this other person picks up and I learn that I’ve actually been dating Jim Carrey for over a year! Granted, I know that Jim’s got an incredibly flexible face, god-given ability to alter his voice and demeanor, and could easily afford a little condo in the city – but could I actually have been duped into believing that Jim Carrey was just some average-joe nerdy bald guy with a heart of gold? Why would Jim Carrey do that anyway? Granted, I am a total fox – but would he seriously think I couldn’t be attracted to him as just “Jim”? How shallow does Jim Carrey think I am anyway!? I’m going to call that jerk back and give him a piece of my mind!”
…[goes to redial number]...
“Oh, wait, I just dialed the wrong area code. Ah well, I wonder if Mythbusters or Planet's Funniest Animals is on…”
Granted, that last part is a complete fictionalization on my part, but it’s what would have gone through my head were I a woman. This is why I could make a very bad woman – I’d be too prone to semi-violent outbursts of justifiable rage. As a man, it’s much easier – I’m just prone to amusing episodes of irrational confusion. Easier, plus nobody gets hurt and only I get embarrassed, which is usually worth it anyway because it’s entertaining.
Or so she tells me.
* Since I live in the city but work in the suburbs, my commute is eleventy-billion miles – long enough to make me drive from the urban sophistication of 773 through the gritty industrial wasteland of 708 into the idyllic Desperate Housewives-esque suburban wasteland of 630
Now, to be fair, if I were in her place I’d be confused too. “Here I am, calling my boyfriend to see how his day went and to bask in the warming rays of his adoration when suddenly this other person picks up and I learn that I’ve actually been dating Jim Carrey for over a year! Granted, I know that Jim’s got an incredibly flexible face, god-given ability to alter his voice and demeanor, and could easily afford a little condo in the city – but could I actually have been duped into believing that Jim Carrey was just some average-joe nerdy bald guy with a heart of gold? Why would Jim Carrey do that anyway? Granted, I am a total fox – but would he seriously think I couldn’t be attracted to him as just “Jim”? How shallow does Jim Carrey think I am anyway!? I’m going to call that jerk back and give him a piece of my mind!”
…[goes to redial number]...
“Oh, wait, I just dialed the wrong area code. Ah well, I wonder if Mythbusters or Planet's Funniest Animals is on…”
Granted, that last part is a complete fictionalization on my part, but it’s what would have gone through my head were I a woman. This is why I could make a very bad woman – I’d be too prone to semi-violent outbursts of justifiable rage. As a man, it’s much easier – I’m just prone to amusing episodes of irrational confusion. Easier, plus nobody gets hurt and only I get embarrassed, which is usually worth it anyway because it’s entertaining.
Or so she tells me.
* Since I live in the city but work in the suburbs, my commute is eleventy-billion miles – long enough to make me drive from the urban sophistication of 773 through the gritty industrial wasteland of 708 into the idyllic Desperate Housewives-esque suburban wasteland of 630
Comments
Thank you Jason for easing my Hypocondriacle tendencies.
PS I like to make up words too, is that a Y chromosome trait as well?