More than any other gender, clear-cut or somewhere in between the spectrum, “men” seem to be the ones most fond–most likely to experience ejaculation–from being “right” via proving that a woman’s method and approach to something did not end up “working out” for her. Of course, what he means by it not working out is that she has not managed to achieve what she set out to do as quickly as she might have had she, say, sucked some literal or metaphorical cock.

But, as all women with their eye on the prize will ultimately come to find, they generally, without fail, always accomplish that which they set their sights on (primarily sweet death). It’s just a matter of our own process of getting there. If we don’t want to plaster a fucking “sweet” smile on our faces while we do it, or if we want to go about a certain task in a, shall we say, more roundabout, time-consuming fashion, that’s our fucking business. What should it matter to a loomingly observing “male” who apparently has nothing better to do than wait for a “woman” (even his own girlfriend most of the time) to err? Is it that satisfying for him to feel vindicated in knowing that his dick is still intact somewhere within the recesses of his groin?

This deep-seated need to see women unable to “perform” on their own terms stems from decades upon decades of conditioning. Like Lucy Ricardo’s many attempts at doing things her own way, only to have them very literally shoved back in her face as glaring mistakes, her constant fear of Ricky finding out is a testament to the inherent nature of most women: combative and defiant beneath that surface of perceived obsequiousness. We’ll fucking show you all when we’ve turned “men”–especially those softboys feigning emotionalism–completely into decorative pieces too afraid to say anything that could be viewed as offensive, let alone open their gaping maws any further at all beyond breathing. How’s that working out for you?