Getting a Complex

There used to be only two great mysteries in life, Graham Henry’s rotation policy, and the mind of a woman. Now there is only one. Someone repeated an old joke to me the other day. It goes like this: A scientist has invented a new bra for women. It holds breasts securely, prevents wobble and jiggle and allows no nipple show-through. His male colleagues beat him to death. I fear that were I to invent a mechanism whereby men were able to understand women I would suffer a similar fate at the hands (or is it the fists?) of women. Of course, and fortunately, there is no chance of that. Hamilton has more chance of being taken seriously than I, or anyone, has of inventing anything that could even start to explain the inner complexities of a woman. Man is incapable of such complexity. It is for them an unreachable and unfathomable concept. It cannot even be conceived as a goal. It is no coincidence that those men who have come closest, the world’s great artists, have either become alcoholics of suicides or both. Men simply cannot cope. Men are simple creatures. That’s why we have rugby. Women are not. That’s why they have knitting. So, if a woman’s complexity defies explanation does it necessarily follow that it is denied celebration? No. We men should celebrate everything that is woman and all that she provides and all that she asks. They are what they are. That is what makes them so beautiful to live with.

----------------
Now playing: Leonard Cohen - Anthem
via FoxyTunes