The gynophobic man
by Donald K. Sanders
I think I am gynophobic. This hasn’t always been the case for me. At one time, I was pretty tough and women or girls, whichever, had a great fear of my maleness. Women would just naturally shy away from a guy like me. All I had to do is gggrrooowwwllll!
I can pretty much pinpoint the day I became Ggnophobic. I was a tough individual one day and the very next day I found the wrath of God. It was shortly after my seventh birthday. It was the day I met Sister Mary Conchadda at St. Joseph’s Orphanage in Little Rock Arkansas. That dark lady of God beat the Hell out of me on the first day I met her. Eight or nine hours later she beat the Hell out of me again for wetting the bed.
That was the beginning of it. I became vigilant about knowing her whereabouts and an expert at distinguishing the sound of her footsteps in the long hallways of the big dark building where I spent my childhood. If you had spent any time with the Sisters of the Benedictine you would be fully aware of minding your P’s and Q’s. These women ran in packs like the wolves in the Black Forrest, only they were meaner.
Go ahead and laugh. Ha Ha. However I can tell you right now that most men are gynophobic. So, ha ha right back. Read on suckers. For your information, good things are manly and collective; the despicable are feminine and individual. Take the cinema for example. If you want to create a group of killers you take a group of kids, send them to boot camp, and kill the women in them. That is the lesson of both the US Army and Marine Corp.
OK, take the films “Casualties of War, and Full Metal Jacket.” These films depict a group of killers that can do anything they want, kill anything, right? Wrong! As soon as these killers run across a woman, the crap hits the fan right? See what I mean?
Not too long ago I had a horrible experience with a woman of great power. Here is what happened, and I will leave nothing out. Nothing. I think I was singled out by this woman because I’m so smart and I have an innate ability to stay calm when most other men will freak out like little girls.
On this particular morning, I had made my wife a lunch and she was off on time to work. After my chores of dusting and sweeping the floors, I settled down to reading about the genetic mutation of our local Drosophila Simulans. I was about ready for second breakfast when I caught a whiff of something horrid. I sniffed my pits but that wasn’t it. Just then I heard a loud whoosh sound.
I ran and opened the bathroom door to see a fountain of water two feet in diameter gushing from my toilet. I screamed so loud I thought a little girl had been drowning just out the window until I discovered it was me screaming. I thought I was going get my slippers wet, so I slammed the door and ran to the front to get some assistance. That’s when I first saw her.
I was freaking out on the inside but as cool as a cucumber on the outside as I stepped out onto my front porch. There in the street sat two white trucks with “SPS” on the doors. A large manhole was open and there was a woman bent over looking down into the hole. Motors were running loudly, bouncing around on semi-flat tires. The lady looked up at me and smiled.
It was at that exact time that I noticed my pants were soaking wet and dripping from the knees down. She was obviously a lady of some importance because she had a clipboard and a pencil. I really didn’t want to mess with this lady but I didn’t know what else to do at this point. I couldn’t tell my wife what happened unless I had someone to blame, right?
She was still looking at me and smiling, so I says, “I don’t know what you are doing down there but I think you may have blown up my bathroom.” She stands up erect, the smile gone, and then looks down into the manhole and drags her finger across her neck like she is going to cut her own throat. That very instant, all of the motors stopped and there was total silence. I was impressed and I have to say I was really getting scared.
The lady followed me into my house and on to the bathroom. She says, “Yep it’s wet” and “Well, this has never happened before” At that very moment she reminded me of Richard Nixon. As she walked back to the front door she says, “OK, here’s what we’ll do.” “We’ll sterilize your bathroom and run a camera up the sewer and we’ll get a picture to you ASAP.”
I was really getting scared now because I didn’t even know what the Hell she had just said. So I says, “Oh don’t bother, I’ll clean it up.” When she left, I had to bite my fist to keep from screaming again. I thought to myself, “Holy crap! This lady has the power to make shit flow uphill!” I really didn’t want to mess with this lady so I mopped up the floor and got the Hell out of there until they left the area.
An hour or so later, I crept back into my house and there on the floor was an envelope with two pieces of paper. One had some pictures of some dark circles and the other had a letter that said, “Your lateral was 42.5 feet from the manhole. It had no defects and there was nothing to explain the water backup into your bathroom.” It continued, “Sorry for any inconvenience and thanks for your cooperation.” The top of the letter had the heading, “Specialized Pipeline Services Certified number SBE10029574 and an expiration date.”
Now I was scared and impressed at the same time. I found myself asking, “What the Hell is a lateral?” “What the heck is in these pictures” and “How the Hell did she type this letter so fast?” I’m thinking now that this lady must be CIA or something like that. I really didn’t want to mess with her and the next time I see her, I’m not going to make eye contact and I’m going to pretend I’m deaf.