Drive A Truck To Fake Out The Real Men
I wasn’t aware they had even left, but apparently they did, only now they’re back again. And it sounds like I’ll still have a hard time getting into the club.
Keeping up with trends in manliness has always been a problem for me. It goes back to when I was drafted. “The Army will make a man of you,” older people told me. I was afraid to ask them what they thought I was previously.
The Army did make me do a lot of calisthenics. This developed the muscles in my arms and hands that I needed for my principal activity of the next two years, which was perpetually shining my shoes until they were glossy enough to satisfy the first sergeant. The essential masculinity of this escapes me, although I should note that it also gave me the strength to twist off beer bottle caps with manly vigor.
When I got out of the Army it was the 1970s, and I was instructed that men now were required to be sensitive. I tried my best. I tried to think sensitive thoughts, but they kept being brushed aside by other thoughts, such as, idreddit.com “When do we eat?”
In the 1980s, though, the style began shifting again. Now we had macho men. This also seemed daunting. I was never quite sure what a macho man was, but it seemed to involve flexing your muscles a lot, and I’d already had all the calisthenics I’d ever want in the Army.
The current version of the Manly Man, according to this article, goes in for country dancing, eating lots of steak and chin stubble. More problems.
Cowboy boots make my feet hurt. It would be even worse if I tried to dance in them.
The steak eating sounds fine, fake identity websites but I’m at the age where I have to start watching my diet; low fat, low sodium, bleah.
And as for the stubble well, you’d think an actual beard would be OK, but no. Short, scratchy stubble is what the guys in the men’s cologne ads sport.
The conclusion is inescapable. I am not a Real Man. I must be a Fake Man.
I went home and broke the news to my wife. “I’m not a Real Man,” I told her.
“In that case,” she said, idemperor.com “who’s been leaving his jockey shorts lying around on the bedroom floor?”
As I said earlier, my only hope of redemption is my truck. The article said Real Men like to drive big pickup trucks. I have a big pickup truck. It’s even a Dodge, which is the make that’s in the photo that went with the article.
However, it’s not a brawny new 1994 Dodge Ram, which is the model in the photo. It’s 14 years old, rattles and wheezes, and its chief body component is rust. It doesn’t even have a gun rack. I may have to deduct points for the omission.
I can’t be the only Fake Man around. There must be others, concealing their inadequacies behind plaid flannel lumberjack shirts, idpurchase.com even though they’d rather be wearing Ban Lon pullovers. Or, trying to fool people by standing around in parking lots next to other guys’ Harley Davidsons. Maybe we can start a support group.
We’d better, because things are only going to get worse. That article predicted that the new Real Man for the 1990s will be a combination of both ruggedness and sensitivity.