The difference between boys and girls.

Beyond the basic plumbing connections, boys and girls, in general, have many things uncommon. Girls like attention to details.  Embroidery on the napkins and sprinkles on the cupcakes and pretty-colored sauce on the plate under the salmon, and fancy soaps in the bathroom.

Guys like booger jokes.  My DH, in searching for a new breakfast restaurant ran across a review for a place that had an unsightly bathroom.  Built up crusts of nasal secretions within arm's reach of the toilet at levels for standers or sitters. The review went on, but I slapped my hands over my ears and sang  while he continued reading aloud, laughing so hard he nearly had tears running down his cheeks. I have never before seen him so amused by a piece of writing.  And every male I know is like that.  The dearest transvestite I ever met still liked booger humor.  Are there any women out there who thinks nosejuice is anything but disgusting?

Then there is the difference between chick flicks and guy films.  Chick flicks have people talking to one another and dealing with life's experiences.  Guys films have explosions, destruction, and clearly defined villains and heroes.  I like guy films if they have some character development, but unless a film has loud martial music and pieces of something flying through the air, or naked female flesh, guys are going to get bored.  Maybe I should write a film about naked people talking to one another while they blow things up.  Oh, that's been done.

The county fair has a table-setting competition.  I have considered doing a his-n-hers picnic.  His is a brown paper bag holding a big thick bologna and onion sandwich and a can of coke. Hers is a pretty basket with a checkered cloth, lemonade in a thermos with a pretty glass to drink it from, a chicken salad sandwich with the crusts cut off, carrot sticks in a neat little sealed container, a chocolate cupcake with a pink frosting rose on top, and a cloth napkin.

Yes, I'm generalizing.  I know there are guys who can turn out a gourmet picnic with all the details laid on in the picnic basket that unpacks like a clown car holding everything up to and including the rose in the bud vase.  And I know there are women who would rather go hungry than fuss with cutting off the crusts.  Where do you stand?  If fixing for myself, I'll eat cold beans directly from the can while standing over the sink.  But for others, the sky's the limit!