Top critical review
25 of 29 people found this helpful
on 20 August 2013
My wife left this book on the bedroom table when she went out to work this morning. Attracted by the pretty colours on the cover and having nothing else to do all day I eventually worked out which way round it went and stretched out on the couch in my underpants for a read. A couple of times I nearly lost interest but the print was nice and big and there were loads of references to TV shows that I used to watch back before my wife hid the remote so in the end I stuck with it, rising only a couple of times to grab a beer or urinate out the door of the trailer.
From what I could gather Ms Rosin seems to think that we men have in some way lost our 'maleness' - that being the ability to make more money, get higher grades and generally be better human beings then our womenfolk - and at times I found myself agreeing with her, and then hating myself for doing so. And then hating myself for hating myself for agreeing with her. And then just getting all plain confused.
She does have a point though. Since feminism came along we've let ourselves go a bit, us men. Reckon we held that door open a little too long and now we're stuck out in the rain being laughed at. But hey ho - that didn't bother me none as I stretched out on my couch smoking and reading and scratching my what-nots. You ladies wanted empowerment - enjoy!
Back to the book. It seems to comprise of Ms Rosin hanging around with a load of really busy women with waster husbands who lead her to the easy conclusion that we're all total dweebs. She doesn't say so in as many words but it's there sure enough, in all them clever short sentences she uses, you know the type when you just give a minor detail, such as 'Hank sits there picking his nose and dribbling whilst Mary-Lou changes all six children whilst finishing her thesis,' before changing subject like the point's already been made. But I didn't mind this, and in fact I kind of wished that she'd provided the telephone numbers for these men at the back of the book as they all seemed like pretty clever guys to me, the sort of fellows I'd happily share a little XBox time with providing they wasn't too good or got rude and shouty down the headset, if you know what I mean. Seems like they were doing just fine sitting on their couches smoking cigarettes - just like me - whilst their lady folk went out and earned all the money and did all the shopping and got all the degrees and such. Seems like a pretty fair deal.
Anyways, I got about halfway through the thing before my wife came home with our three children and it was time for me to watch her feed them and put them all to bed again, which I did, with a beer, on my couch, still in my underpants. But before you get the wrong idea about the kind of man I am I want you to know that I did two other things that night, started two 'beginnings' if you like, to combat all this male end-ness.
The first thing I done was email Hanna Rosin and invite her over for a beer so that she could study me for her next book, 'Goodbye Man!' or 'Men? What Men?' or whatever else she chooses to call it. Reckon I'd make a great case study just like all them others.
The second thing I done was start my own novel, 'The End of Underpants,' 'cos 56% of mine have got a hole in them and the way I see it when they're gone I won't be able to afford any more. Now all I gotta do is write a few descriptions of the worst offenders in my grots draw and hey presto - instant bestseller. I might even take some pictures of some of my wife's newest fancy knickers as proof that underpants are officially coming to an end.
Gotta go now - my wife's just getting back in from her night shift at the strip club (empowerment baby!) and I don't want her to catch me fiddlin' with her laptop. Ciao.