I have to deal with three men who are precious only male children on a regular basis- Dad, (and he was the least indulged or mollycoddled of the three) Steve-o, (who was a precious only male child simply by default- he’d have been an only child regardless of his gender) and Jerry, who was the long awaited “male heir”- coming after three older sisters.
Of course Jerry was by far the most indulged, mollycoddled and downright pampered of the three.
Old traditions die hard. We aren’t that far removed from Henry VIII’s mentality even in today’s politically correct atmosphere. If you must procreate, society places more value on sons. Most men are not terribly thrilled about the arrival of children to begin with, and even if they don’t admit it, daughters are particularly disappointing for them. I would say ask my Dad, but he won’t admit it- at least not in front of me. A man wants his offspring to look and talk and swagger like he does. He wants a man-child to carry on his name and all that happy horseshit.
Mothers of only sons tend to be more protective of their precious only male children. I hate to admit it but I am guilty of it too. We defend them, we indulge them, we let them get away with far too much because we understand that testosterone short-circuits their brains and makes them unable to cook, clean, pick up after themselves or remember to wash their bits and pits while showering. We assume that other females are too capable and able to tend to their own needs for us to cater to them- and besides, they have to learn Life Skills sooner or later. We need not explain to other females that if you don’t cook you starve, if you don’t clean you drown in squalor, and if you want something, get off your ass and get it yourself. Women do learn faster than men. The testosterone-addled minds of male children, (probably a good number of adult males as well) however, can’t seem to grasp the concept that meals do not cook themselves, shampooing while showering is not “optional,” and we do not choose which pair of pants to wear based on whether or not the crotch passes the “sniff test.”
I have actually said this phrase out loud, and with all sincerity:
“Steve-o, if you wore them they’re dirty. Don’t sniff the crotch. Put them in the wash. NOW!”
Steve-o has actually become somewhat functional in the self-care department. He cares too much about his sex life to neglect his hygiene. The bad point about this is he cons his girlfriend into washing his laundry for him. She’s going to get really tired of that stinky chore.
Jerry I must say has good personal hygiene for a man, but his commendable life skills pretty much stop there.
I think his brain would explode if he had to:
Brew a pot of coffee (he doesn’t drink it so he wouldn’t bother anyway)
Wash a dish
Make his own Dr. or dental appointment
Get his own scripts