"No, I actually don't," I laughed, as I paced around my living room.
"Women just have rounder, more perfect bodies. Men look really weird naked, if you ask me. They are not fun to look at at all. I mean, if I had a choice to go to a male or female strip club, I know which one I'd take."
"See, I'm not sure if I agree with that," I replied, and decided I was tired of pacing and sat plop! Down onto the cushiony chair in front of me. "I mean, I've had sex with both men and women, and I have to say, I find men way more interesting to have sex with. They have this thing, you know? Dangling between their legs. This nice stretchable plaything. And it can be big, it can be small, it can be curved, it thick, it can be hairy, it can have a hoodie, and even better, it has this big sack hanging down underneath it, too. And, it can spew things out once you get it excited. That's fun!"
"Yeah, I guess," said Sarah, and it was obvious that I had utterly grossed her out with my discussion of the various size and shapes of the male anatomy.
"Don't get me wrong, women have their advantages," I continued, trying to move away from my impassioned argument for the many advantages of the schlong. "I like flirting with women far more. Women are better at it, they make it so much more fun. It doesn't have to lead to anything. And if you ask me, I think women age far more gracefully. Men get uglier faster." A pause. "Well, for the most part."
"You really think that?" Sarah clearly didn't. "Don't you think maybe it's just that more women make the effort to keep themselves up better?"
"That's true," I acknowledged. "Men are bad about those things. They stop shaving their backs, get those disgusting age spots. They get the gut. Women tend to make more of an effort. But I still think they stay beautiful longer."
Then Sarah had to go feed her baby and I thought the discussion of the battle of the sexes was over. And it was, until I crawled into bed that night as Corb was thumbing through his iPhone. "I hate that Babette is always posting photos trying to look like a teenager. She's not a teenager. She's in her fourties and it's disgusting to see her prancing around in tiny short shorts and baby doll outfits."
"What's so bad about it?" I replied, stretching out my legs and luxuriating in the feel of the cool blanket against my legs. "If you can get away with it, why not try to act as young as you can for as long as you can? I think that's fun."
Corb squinted his eyes. "You just say that because you like to flirt with her. You're going to leave me some day and run away with her, aren't you?"
I shook my head. "Corb, I so am not."
"You are, you are! You are! Because you like flirting with her. It means you're attracted to her and want to leave me someday."
Hmmm. That looks like the perfect opening to resume my lecture on what makes what dangles between a man's legs so much more appealing.
Actions speak louder than words. I turned the lights out and showed him just what I meant.