The Grey Squirrel


Like a small grey
coffee-pot,
sits the squirrel.
He is not

all he should be,
kills by dozens
trees, and eats
his red-brown cousins.

The keeper on the
other hand,
who shot him, is
a Christian, and

loves his enemies,
which shows
the squirrel was not
one of those.

Humbert Wolfe

----------------

A male friend, where I used to work, wrote this down for me on a piece of cardboard -- complete with beautiful calligraphy and a fancy border.

He gave it to me one day when he noticed a group of women ( or sharks in shirtwaists) swarming at the water cooler; and even though I thought of them as friendly co-workers they saw me as shark chum. He overheard the talk and felt sorry for me I guess, so he gave me the poem in his handwriting and I've kept it in my office for years.

It seems I don't get along well with women.

I usually find the actions, thoughts, hobbies and interests of men far more appealing.

Not all women, but of the women I am exposed to, most have desires and drives that are foreign to me.

I do not like to make crafts; I prefer a beer to a cup of tea.

I hate shopping and I love sports.

Jeans, tees, flip-flops and a neat, but unfussed with ponytail, take me through most of my days.

Girls night out is not appealing to me as I have no interest in seeing a chick-flick and then going for a sundae or a Cosmopolitan.

I do not want to sign up for a home dermabrasion party nor do I want to arrive en masse for a pedicure with 6 other women.

I do not want to either hash up my husband or elevate him to sainthood.

I don't want to talk about my children ad nauseum nor do I feel comfortable in sharing intimate details of any part of my life.

If I'm going to see a new Broadway play, I'd prefer to do it with my husband in the evening, not with women "friends" at a matinee.

So for some reason, when I see the spring squirrels running around the yard, scampering up trees and cheecheecheeing at the neighborhood cats, I think of this poem and my relationships with women and feel a bit sad.

I wish it were different.

I envision this female friend: a regular gal with a brain. Someone who won't let any of the seven deadly sins override a friendship. Someone who can be close without being clingy. Someone who "doesn't know it all" but is still learning like me. Someone who doesn't always need to be the center of attention, but someone who has a spark other than on her gas stove's ignition system.

Someone who might very well be a wife, mother and employee, yet not let those aspects of her life be all she can talk about.

I am thankful for the blog world and the interesting, intelligent and wise women I've met safely on my computer screen. I wish you all lived near me.

And I've also come across blog women who would fit right in with the water-cooler clique and I'm equally glad they don't.

I once started a blog entry titled: Why I Like Men Better than Women.

I never finished it but here's what I did write:

Men don't cry easily or often. When women cry they screw their faces up and let their noses run unwiped. The rare occasions men cry, they keep the action limited to their eyes with no facial deformation.

Men are competitive in sports but not in relationships. Women compete with other women at work, the PTA, cocktail parties, the gym - and most of the time it's all about one-upmanship, envy, jealousy and physical beauty.

I won't quote all of it, but the real truth is I do love women.

I just wish I could meet one I really liked other than on the computer screen.