4 Things Single Men Will Never Fully Understand About Women


There's a deleted scene from the movie 10000 BC in which the affable character Tic'Tic remarks to D'leh that Evolet will probably pretend to have a headache the first night they're together after he rescues her if he doesn't ask her how her day's been. This shows that terrible observations about the different ways men and women think have existed for thousands of years. Or it would if I hadn't made that up and 10000 BC had been in any way factual or even remotely interesting, which of course it wasn't. But if I hadn't ruined it by pointing that out, that may have been a good setup for my premise here -- that there are some legitimate differences between the sexes that cannot be overcome or understood. There are things men will never understand about the world of women. But there are reasons why. Come, let us understand humanity's myriad differences together!

#4. Pads


The vagina is a black morass of confusion. You can be a cyborg gynecologist and not fully understand that thing. If we had no standards on Cracked, I'd go into greater detail about the weird things I've seen on vagina-centric websites, but instead I'll say that, beyond the biology of the thing, it's really as hard to get a hold of as a unicorn.

Women menstruate. I learned this on a bus, you may have learned it elsewhere. That's fine. Ladies also require a method of dealing with this, and the result is the one-two sanitation punch of pads and tampons. Go, ladies! That said, I don't think any man, anywhere, fully understands pads. In fact, I'm willing to bet a lot of women don't. Have you seen the pad aisle in a store? It's fucking huge. How does that come to pass? How is there more than one kind? What the hell is the Poise pad that Kirstie Alley is trying to sell me?

The limit of my understanding, having been sent to purchase pads in the past -- if I were a more dishonest person, I would say it was for my beautiful fiery red-headed girlfriend, but I will concede it was actually for my mom -- is that there are a handful of different types that boil down to small, medium and large. Like drink sizes at Taco Bell, this is based on fluid retention. The big ones, you see, are for overnight, because when you sleep you're horizontal and the fluid levels even out, and tidal forces plus sphagnum cause excessive leakage. Or whatever. Medium are for business ladies and small are for chicks who have stuff written on their asses that we're not unsettled to read.

The reason men don't understand pads is pretty simple and can best be exemplified with the following graphic:

Logic dictates that a spill will require more or less effort to clean based on its size, but whether a dribble or a crotchy deluge, that small, medium or large should be able to cover it, and that should mean there's three kinds of pads. But good God, there's not three kinds of pads. Look at this screenshot from Kirstie Alley's house:

Poise Pads

These things start at 7.5 inches. That means, to start, they're gauged by length, not fluid retention, which means it's not about how much juice your tomato is making, it's how big your hothouse is. For real? And then it goes up to 15.6 inches. Are you shitting me? Over a foot? You need over a foot of hoo-ha coverage? What kind of lawless crotch circus are you carting around with you? Do you know what else is about 15.6 inches? A size 22 shoe. Shaq could wear that pad on his foot.

The Always website gives you the option to navigate to like five different products. Infinity, Radiant, Tsunami Drop-Kick, the Red Fist of Rage ... God knows what else, because I refuse to click those links. They're just going to lead to more links and we all know it. Everything in the world of pads is needlessly complicated, probably for marketing and profit-based reasons. It's set up to be far too confusing for a man who never needs to use the things and thus has no vested interest in understanding them. But for real, you can get them as big as Shaq's foot.

#3. Dates


If you're married, you should know your anniversary. Celebrating an anniversary may seem arbitrary, but if you place any value on your relationship, you're acknowledging that it had a set point in time when it began and you're celebrating that fact because you want to celebrate your relationship as a whole. It's a wonderful thing and you enjoy it and want to share it with the person you love.

There is no such thing as a two-week anniversary. That "ann" part in "anniversary" is taken from "annual," and the "iversary" part is Latin for "fuck a two-week anniversary." If you're willing to commemorate an event on a yearly basis, that shit better be awesome.

Men notoriously have trouble remembering important dates. There are probably numerous instances of Tim Allen making jokes about this. Oh no, I forgot my wife's birthday! Zoinks! Better get her a gift at the gas station! "Ha ha," laugh the soulless abominations in the audience. "Ha ha," laugh the vacant mouth-breathers around their banana pudding at home. "Ha ha," laughs no one else, especially you, because why would you be watching Tim Allen? Exactly. But that's not the point.

Ha ha ha! Wilson!

Men, even men with chromosomes more or less on a level with Tim Allen, are technically capable of remembering dates. We remember our own birthdays, we generally remember Christmas, we remember when we booked time off work to go see Guns N' Roses live and then Axl Rose freaked out and the show was cancelled and everyone had to riot.

Men have issues with those anniversaries, though for a real reason, in fact, not just bullshit I'm about to make up. It's because men remember things in a genetically different way than women. Look, I sourced it!

Dudes are better with spatial memory and facts. Trying to remember dates requires a whole different set of brains than what men have, so dates, especially dates they haven't had to remember since childhood, get pushed aside for facts about how many actors were hurt on set during the filming of Predator. Did you know they originally cast Jean-Claude van Damme as the alien, but he was too short? Ha ha, little Belgian!

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Ian Fortey

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