Yesterday, I escorted my son Niall to nursery, and as I released him yelling and screaming into a wilderness of Bob the Builder plastic figures and green-coloured gunge, I couldn't help but think to myself: "I wonder if Einstein was this much of a hooligan when he was two years old." Actually, I didn't think that. What I thought was this: "There goes a happy little boy. It's a shame he is going to grow up into a man and discover that life is full of pain and anguish."Once a month, when my beloved girlfriend and I have exhausted ourselves arguing over whose turn it is to change the bedclothes, we turn our attentions to a subject somewhat less important but nevertheless diverting - life. Or should I say my life.According to her, my life is easy. At least, it is easy in comparison to her life which is, she says, a minefield of stress and anguish stretching far over the horizon. "No-one forces you go to shopping for shoes twice a week," I tell her with a cheeky wink.Nothing is guaranteed to make my girlfriend lose her temper as much as a cheeky wink, except perhaps the realisation that her alarm clock hasn't gone off and she's missed the start of the Whistles sale.She then embarks on a lengthy rant about all the things that have rendered her life infinitely more difficult than mine, a list that begins and ends with the pain of childbirth. "How would you like to go through that, Mr Can't Watch an Episode of ER Without Putting a Cushion Over Your Head?" she says. The answer is I wouldn't, although in my defence the immutable laws of biology mean I couldn't possibly have given birth to our son. Also, I was away playing golf with my pals when it happened.Long experience has taught me at this stage it is advisable for me to bow out of the argument and accept that if I don't shut up immediately she might do something with the hot iron she has in her hands - and I don't mean iron my shirts. This is very frustrating because I believe I can make a very persuasive case for saying that men go through just as much, if not more, pain and anguish in their lives than women. However, I take some consolation in the knowledge that the people who read this column every week - all 11 of them - are always happy to listen to what I have to say and, even when they are not, the worst they can do to me is draw a moustache on my photograph. The truth is, men face countless problems - terrible, terrible problems, the kind of problems that women can only dream about, and even then only if they've eaten something extremely exotic, like a large plate of anchovies and Dairy Milk chocolate just before they go to bed; the kind of problems that are so terrible that I can't bring myself to end this sentence so that I can start thinking about what they are ... Oh, yes, I've thought of a few things. What about the anguish and pain that comes from realising that no matter how dimmed the lighting, no-one is ever going to mistake you for Brad Pitt? What about the pain and anguish that comes from the realisation that no matter how much you spend on a brand new set of tools from B&Q, you are never going to be as good at DIY as my pal Liam.His tools look like they were bought second-hand from Boris the careless caveman. Yet how is it that Liam can hang a door in about 10 seconds flat and it takes me ... well, I've never actually worked out how to hang a door.And don't get me started on the pain and anguish that comes with supporting a football team. Yes, I know women support football teams, too, but not like men.Not like the men who call the Radio Clyde football phone-in every Saturday night in pain over the latest misfortune to befall their team.Men who wouldn't lose a minute's sleep if an asteroid was about to slam into the Earth, ending mankind forever, are in tears over Gordon Strachan's tactics.Men who had both arms ripped off in an unfortunate farmyard accident agonise over Walter Smith's tiny transfer budget.Yes, indeed, it is tough being a man, but it is probably best not to tell that to my happy little son. And, whatever you do, please God, don't tell his mother. Not while she's got that hot iron in her hands.
No comments:
Post a Comment