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JOEFOOLERY - IT'S HARD OUT THERE FOR THE MAN

IT'S HARD OUT THERE FOR THE MAN

 

by Joe Reister © 2016

 

Being the man is great.

 

I should know.  I am the white, well-educated, middle class American man living life to the fullest.  My life is the sweetest, and the only problems I have are the one I created myself.  I highly recommend it.

 

But I do have a problem. 

 

And no, it’s not women insisting on respect while educating themselves to the top or Blacks demanding equal justice before the law.  Nor could I care less about immigrants working to make us a minority by 2050 or 1.4 billion Chinese retaking their historical global position by 2025.  Nope, they can take all they can get.  It doesn’t matter to me because I’m loving life.  Better yet, they’re all working hard to join the white man’s club, and if they catch up, congratulations.  I might need to adjust and work harder, but that’s life: ever changing.  If you can’t keep up, you fall behind.  Boo hoo.  Life goes on.

 

No.  My problem is more personal and one I suspect has affected men everywhere for all time. 

 

I’m losing my mojo. 

 

Yes, I’m middle aged and my youth has slipped away.  I still notice the women, but I’m not sure that I care so much anymore. 

 

The young and beautiful still look good.  They always have and always will, but that’s not enough anymore.  They have little to say, have done even less and could all be my daughters.  The most I’d ever give them is the politest of polite hugs.  So, no thank you.  I’m done with them going on ten years, and they’re done with me going on twenty.  Bye.

 

As for middle aged women?  Meh.  They feel the same way I do.  We’re all clutching our worn out looks with kids in hand, and we’ve all heard and said the same things to each other for the last generation.  The problem is they just don’t care much anymore and neither do I, and everyone knows indifference is unappealing at any age.  See you.  Wouldn’t want to be you.

 

Of course, I’m lucky.   I have my wife and she is beautiful.  She accepts who I am, is sharp as a tack, backs up her words with actions, and I still see her like the day we met twenty years ago.

 

It’s a rough life, you know, for the man.

 

 

 

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