I'm a Wimp

There, I said it. Hi, I'm Paul and I am have Wimpy Tendencies (WT). (You respond, "Hi, Paul"). I have had WTs for as long as I can remember, but I think they first manifest themselves when I got braces and as they began to work, I was in debilitating, eat nothing but pudding and milkshakes for a week pain. Phew, what a relief to finally be able to say it. (Of course, for those who know me, this is akin to announcing the sky is blue). And I'm not a total wimp mind you - I mean, I played all of the hit and get hit sports as a youth - ice hockey, football, baseball, rugby (and I still play ice hockey, so there). And I have become quite the do-it-yourselfer around the house I don't mind telling you, so I know my way around a tool chest and a tool shed. So, I am quite comfortable with my masculinity, thank you very much. But, I do have wimp tendencies, of that let there be no doubt. For example, I usually cry when my daughters make me a card. And I have been known to well up while watching poignant commercials, or the end of a chick flick I have been dragged to, or after one of those Olympic retrospectives (those always get me). And ok, I may have sort of cried when my wife and I were watching the finale of the Biggest Loser, when all of the fatties revealed how much weight they lost and how it had changed their lives. Well, it was touching all right, shoot me! So, honestly, I have no problem with that side of me (and my wife thinks its cute). But the problem is that, as a husband, father and even as a 30-something male, I exist in a world where I'm not allowed to show that side of me. Our society looks down upon the sensitive male in most circumstances.

For example, I got my haircut today. And I'm terrified of scissors. Ok, that's not really true. But I go to a barber who has a woman (not unattractive) who does the pre-haircut hair washing. And my barber is pretty old school - that's part of the reason I like going there (another reason is that I like the way he cuts my hair). And part of that old school haircut experience I like is that he uses a straight razor to cut the hair on the back of my neck and my sideburn area - very cool. Also, he has the hair-washing person do the hot-towel-on-face-while-my-hair-is-being-washed-thing - and herein lies the problem. While I really like the feeling of the hot towel thing (eventually), sometimes that towel comes out of the steamer thing quite hot. Really, really hot. Like 'a layer of skin was just stripped from my face' hot. And the attractive hair wash woman always asks "Does that feel ok?" Now, for a guy like me with wimpy tendencies, I ask you what kind of impossible position does that question put me in? I will submit that this is a must lie situation. I mean, what I really want to tell the woman is to take that thing off my face immediately because my face is melting. But, how would I look to this woman, and to the other guys that are in their for their haircuts? That towel could literally be on fire when it is applied to my face and I don't think I could say anything.

And what about at the doctor's office? I am terrified of needles. But what am I supposed to tell the nurse (99 times out of 100, a woman) when she asks for an arm to jab? That I need another nurse in the room who's hand I can hold? Because that's what I'm thinking. But no, I have to hold my arm out there like the masculine dude I am even though I'm crying like a baby on the inside - again, a must lie situation.

And what about when my daughters are screaming because there is a big spider in their bedroom? Do I tell them that I'd rather be diving under the covers with them than killing this gigantic, hairy, freaky, leggy thing? Or do I tell them in a calm, fatherly voice that I'll handle it (and then pray the thing doesn't move while I shut my eyes and whack at it with a shoe, because if it moves and I miss it, I am running for the hills). Lie. Lie. Lie.

I think that's why I hate horror movies so much - getting the shi..stuff scared out of my is not my idea of a good time - and exposes my wimpy tendency to scream like a five year old every time something scares me.

So, I guess I'm trapped until society recognizes the error of its ways. Maybe I can start a support group for other guys with WT (wimpy tendencies). Maybe we can one day walk through the world without this Scarlett WT on our chests. But until that day comes...kill your own spiders cause they freak me out.