Dear Wally #50 Men fixing things

Dear Wally:
Last week’s column about summer camp was extremely funny but I found the use of such immature bathroom talk, which I won’t dignify here by mentioning, childish.
-Anonymous
(Wally replies: Dear Anonymous: Childish? I know you are but what am I?)

Dear Wally:
Whenever my husband tries to fix something, he ends up swearing at it. I regularly hear curses coming from the garage. My friends say their husbands do the same thing. Why do guys do this? It makes no sense. Neither does leaving empty containers in the freezer, which he and my friends’ husbands also do. Ugggh.
-Jody

Dear Jody-
You and only 50 million other American women!
I too am one of those swearing, container-leaving (and worse) thugs. I hope to shed some light on the ‘why’ of this behavior so you might better understand the hairy, upright thing you married .
My thoughts: First, swearing at inanimate objects gives us silverbacks a sense of control when the situation is anything but in control. Granted it may be illusory, but to berate and damn a stubbornly broken whatchamacallit to the deepest tarry pits of Hell generates an adrenal surge of primal power one can feel right above the kidneys--a feeling that is reminiscent of our loincloth-wearing ancestors as they stared up at the scaly shins of the T Rex (or whatever was big and threatening at the time) and realized they were about to be gobbled up. (Insert your favorite swear here). It’s kind of the last thing left to do when the situation (or machine) has you check-mated. And it feels good.
Cursing broken objects is an outlet for the frustration one may feel when one is staring down the barrel of a humiliating situation in which they are over their head technically or financially. That usually translates to spending money for someone else to fix it (or to fix one’s broken / lacerated body part). And we guys don’t like spending money on broken things like our BBQs or our pride (Right guys? Right. F-that! ) Sometimes, by first swearing, and then walking away for a cool down period, a guy can return later to find the stupid object has come to its senses and decided to become co-operative. This rarely happens.
Swearing at objects occasionally signifies victory. After something like a rusted bolt puts up a serious fight, and I fix it, it feels exceptionally satisfying to shake my bloodied knuckle at it, drop the F bomb on it and tell it what it can do with itself.
Sometimes you will hear foulage from the mouth of a guy who has been hurt by an inanimate object, such as the coffee table leg that jumps out and stubs his toe. The only real option at that point is to swear at it. This makes sense to you, right? Got to keep those damn, free thinking objects in their place…
Of course swearing at inanimate objects has a time and place. If you find yourself walking down the street indiscriminately swearing without provocation, you might want to get that condition checked out by a professional. But now and then? In the garage, or at a tailgater (the person not the football party)? I should think this normal and not cause for excessive concern.
As for the empty container left in the fridge- Don’t think of it as carelessness or laziness. Instead understand what your guy is really saying: “Honey I love you and didn’t think you wanted me to prove it with roses that brown and bend over on the shy side of a week. This empty container of what used to be strawberry ice cream will endure longer than our love (so long as it stays in the freezer and we don’t lose power). Let it be a frozen cardboard monument to all that we have together. Be reminded of it every time you open the freezer to root around for a bon bon. Let it also serve as a reminder of my sacrifice: I’ll eat this sugary poison down so that you don’t have to. If one of us has to get a huge can, let it be me. I’ll take the hit to my rear. That will be my present to you. You’ll have the gift of mobility and I’ll be stuck here on the sofa with my oversized caboose, unable to get up. Go out- be nimble, be mobile. Have fun. (And oh, please pass me the remote) (errr, and the chips).”
On the bright side, scientists are only a few years away from doing a genetic end run around us guys. When our DNA is no longer needed to propagate the human race, we will all wind up in a heap somewhere in the Arizona desert next to broken Boeing 727 fuselages, swearing at the obsolete, toilets with liftable seats scattered about and mumbling at the empty ice cream containers that surround us. And at that point, while your tractor may still be broken, at least your garage will finally be quiet!
-Wally

(Have a question or just need someone to say “I love you” by coming to your house and eating your ice cream? Email our advice columnist @ cwn4@aol.com)