Proof God Has A Sense of Humour

Tonight, I sat with my hubby and watched the Olympic opening ceremonies. I'm not really super into sports, but something about the Olympics just makes me all patriotic and weird. I think because the Olympics represent the feeling of unity I was taught to believe in back in elementary school. You know, before I found out how corrupt governments and the United Nations really were. Sigh...those were the days.

Anyway, we're watching the introduction by the first nations' people and the giant drum and I'm in the middle of a political rant that's going something like this:

"...and it's great that the rest of the world gets to see the beautiful culture and spirit of....Oooh! I wonder which country has the cutest athletes?!"

Good bye political rant, hello cute boys with muscles! I'm sure I was about to make a great diplomatic point about culture, but those cute boys have a way of turning my brain to mush. Now, if my husband were to lose his train of thought because of the possibility of pretty girls, I would go into a three day sulk about how he doesn't really love me. But I'm a woman, and I'm allowed to have double standards.

There I am, happily oogling the male contributors to the 2010 winter Olympics and silently ranking each country based on their level of hotness, when I burst into tears. The team from Georgia has entered the stadium and I'm reminded of the tragedy that will forever mark the Vancouver Olympics. My husband, being used to my bi-polar like mood swings, reaches over and gently pats my leg. He doesn't ask why I'm crying. Either because he already knows (HA) or because he's accepted the fact that us women, we're crazy, and he'll never understand what goes through my head. I once spent half an hour sitting on my kitchen floor sobbing because I really wanted a Bounty Bar and I didn't want to drive all the way to the convenience store to get it. In the end, to shut me up, hubby went and bought me SIX, yes SIX Bounty Bars. Early in our marriage, whenever I was sitting and crying, my husband would quietly ask what was wrong. After I explained why I was crying, he would sit next to me looking utterly bewildered, patting my head, and wondering what it was he should be doing. Since he never really grasped why I was crying in the first place, he'd eventually get frustrated and leave me alone.

I think the reason God made men and women so different is because watching the interaction that takes place while a women is having an emotional breakdown over something that a man finds totally insignificant (like the need for chocolate) provides hours of entertainment. I remember being a little girl and my mother explaining the story of creation to me. She told me that Adam was created first, in God's image. Adam must have been too chatty, because God got tired of listening to him and he created Eve. I think maybe God's got a bit of a sadistic sense of humour.