Tim Allen: Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man

We learned to dance in groups. It was almost like countrymusic line dancing now. It was a great time. Instead of drinking or causing trouble, we danced. We'd come out of the club at two in the morning, sweaty, ready to sleep.

Not everyone was into disco. There were still poetry houses where many women went and talked, sang, and thought about silent desperation. But the rest of us, tired of the struggles of the sixties, just wanted to whoop it up before the eighties arrived and we had to make tons of money. We knew there was enough time for desperation later. We wanted to party while we were still too dense to realize how stupid we looked in Partridge family fashions.

- -

Got a second? I have a couple of fantasies I'm dying to share. I'm sure no woman's ever had this fantasy, which just goes to show you once again how different we are.

I want Scottish bodyguards, Ian and Ion and Ogor, dressed in kilts. Each would weigh three hundred pounds. We'd go to functions and these guys would say, "Aye! You gotta get back, laddie! Timmy's coming through!"

I also wonder, just for a goof, what would happen if I had tits. A guy like me, just so I could go to the beach and make my friends uncomfortable.

"God, Tim, man, you got some nice tits.'

And you can't really tell me to put a top on, because I'm a guy. I could walk around, take off my shirt, go into a garage. The mechanic would say, "God, you got nice tits! Has anybody ever said that? I don't know how else to say it. I'm not gay, but man, you got some tits. Nice tits."

I don't know why I brought that up.

- -

As we know, even though men call it bullshitting, men just out and out lie.

One reason men lie so much is that we get forced into it. It's the truth! Our lying increases the longer we're married because our mates ask us to do such ridiculous things. They're always suggesting changes in our behavior. In their realm, behavioral changes suggested by occasional lunch partners supposedly help women get better. To men it sounds like, "Are you trying to tell me what to do?"

For instance, women like to send thank‑you notes. Women send thank‑you notes for thank‑you notes. "Thank you for that thank‑you note, where did you get it? Let's have lunch and talk about our thank‑you notes."

A thank‑you note? Wait a minute, it was a gift, wasn't it? The Bible says you give freely. You give a gift, that's it. You don't want a Hansel‑and‑Gretel note back saying, "Thanks, I got it." This is a female ritual. They nag their husbands to do it, too.

"Send a thank‑you note."

"I don't want to."

"Send a goddamn thank‑you note."

"I don't want to."

"You send the damn thing, they're your friends."

Pretty soon a guy will say, "All right, All right, just stop yelling at me!" So you start lying, and so begins the routine: bitch, lie, bitch, lie, bitch, lie.

"Okay, I'll send one!" He's thinking: "I'm not sending anything."

Has it always been like that? Cro‑Magnon man? Neolithic times? Valley Gwanda. Grog having a big dinner. Unngghh. Later, a shrill cry from the woman: "Hey, who took a dump in the cave?"

"Who took a dump in the cave?" You know a man is about to lie when he repeats the question. It gives him a moment to think about it. These days it's no different.

"Honey, where's the Crockpot?"

"Our Crockpot?"

"No, the Pope's Crockpot."

"That'd be in Italy, wouldn't it?" Always be a smart‑ass if you can, because it'll take her mind off the original question. Men have to lie to get women off their backs.

Because women rely on a communication network, they abhor lying. Oh, they do it as well as men, but they hate it because it destroys the fabric of trust. Men know that, which is why they often call their lies bullshitting.

"Your grandfather did not leg wrestle with Mussolini."

"He was just bullshitting."

I have a friend who I don't believe has ever told the truth. Obviously the guy wasn't a tank squadron commander in World War Two, but if that helps his story along, what the hell? Sometimes he gets so immersed in these tales that, after describing his foray behind German lines, he'll also say, "And then, when I went to Vietnam.. "

Even I wouldn't want to defend that kind of bullshitting.

This kind of bullshit happens everywhere, even in publishing. Ever read The Celestine Prophecy, a bunch of New Age homilies disguised as a travelogue? Carlos Castaneda had something he wanted to tell us, but he knew we wouldn't believe it if he just told it to some professor at Cal State. So he made up this elaborate fiction. Is it lying? Bullshit? (Lawyers and actors make a living like this.) I think all three are the same.

This is probably why, no matter how many times I tell my wife I've been on the space shuttle, she doesn't believe me.

- -

Live with a woman for only five minutes, and any man will realize that each sex perceives the world in a completely different way, despite sharing the same five senses. Women are hypersensitive to many things, and dull as a brick to others. And they would say the same about us.

I can hear a machine bearing going out from about a mile away. I live in a big house, and once I could "feel" that the compressor on the furnace wasn't functioning correctly. I kept saying "What is that noise?"

My wife said, "What noise?"

"Can't you hear it? Ack, ack, ack, ack, ack, ack. ."

Finally she said, "Well. . Suzie cleaned the furnace yesterday."

Cleaned the furnace! I knew it. I raced to the basement, took one look at the furnace, and it was obvious that somehow the insulation was torn off the filter. It was hanging down into the fan, making the fan very heavy on one side, which burnt out the bearing and made it chirp like a little bird in a big cat's mouth. Had it continued it would have frozen up and the furnace would have blown sky high and everyone would have died in an inferno hotter than the surface of the sun.

I'm not bullshitting. It's a good thing I was around to detect the problem. Even if my wife had heard the bearing, she would no more have taken the access panel off the furnace than anyone else in their right mind. But I removed it because once you get inside things aren't that difficult to figure out. And once I got back from the hospital, I was sure that that was not the thing I should have touched.

- -

Women have a problem with loud and soft. There's no sense buying a stereo with a woman in the house. The volume is never low enough unless it's off, unless they're drinking with their girlfriends.

"Honey? Turn that song up. I like that."

And then when her consciousness returns, "God, it's loud in here!"

"You asked me to turn it up a minute ago."

I hate the volume so low that I can hear my breathing.

The worst part is trying to watch TV late at night, in bed. Everything is always too loud. Not just the TV, which does tend to vary drastically in volume as I surf through the channels. I can't read either. Turning the page makes too much noise. I'd fart, but she might bolt up, half asleep, and dial 911.

I finally got a remote headset and solved the problem.

Now the flickering screen bothers her. Light, dark, light, dark. I thought people slept with their eyes closed.

I think my wife is sending me a message. "Either go to sleep at the same time, or do your stuff in the living room."

- -

Women are always cold. Chilly. "She's got a chill. Are you chilly? I'm a little chilly."

Men never even use the word. "I'm freezing my butt off. Okay?"

My wife says I'm clammy. We're in bed and she's going, "You're warm. You're clammy. I'm chilly. Isn't it a little chilly in here?"

I've always got a little sweat going, so there's not much I can do about it. Thank goodness they've now got cars that have smart dual thermostats. I keep my side cold and her side warm. She'd rather have the whole car warm just to make me uncomfortable, but that's a control thing.