Anyone who has studied women objectively — that is, anyone who is himself not a woman — will tell you they are susceptible to sudden bouts of unreasonable demand-making. Psychologists have a name for it: craving.
Men don’t develop cravings. Women do. And when they do, it is typically a manoeuvre designed to annoy the man for something he may or may not be doing at a given point of time which the woman does not approve of but won’t say so upfront. But by presenting it as a ‘craving’, a woman, in a stroke of pure tactical genius, neutralises the man’s only weapon of self-defense: reason. Any man who has ever dated a woman will know what I’m talking about.
A craving, by definition, is unpredictable. And because a man can never plan for it, it is always disruptive. And disruption, of course, is what women are after.
Let’s say you’re having a nice time watching a cricket match on a Sunday evening. All at once, your wife/girlfriend, who’s been busy all day popping balloons in Bloons Tower Defence 3 will shut the comp and plonk herself beside you on the couch. “Baby,” she’ll begin, smiling so sweetly that you can’t help but get suspicious. “I really feel like having some chocolate chip brownie dipped in cinnamon-flavoured sauce and sautéed in salmon oil.” Or something like that. And all you can think of is that her words are drowning out Gavaskar’s comment on Dhoni’s field placements. “So, shall we make a quick trip to Marcy’s Bakery?”
Timing is everything here. The craving will arise precisely when you cannot afford to stir from whatever it is you are doing, even if it is nothing. This is hardly surprising when you consider that all women suffer from a learning disability, which renders them incapable of understanding that if a man is doing nothing, it doesn’t mean that he is secretly pining to go out and buy brownies. You know that if you step out of the house now, the match will be over by the time you return.
“Can’t we go after the match is over?” you plead.
“They close by 10, it’ll be too late,” she’d say. This reply is usually accompanied by the speaker planting herself between you and the TV to underline her point.
You reach out and shove her aside, gently, and with all the affection at your command.
“Honey, do you really have to have this brownie right now?” you try again. “How about we go for it first thing tomorrow?”
“You don’t understand,” she says, her voice suddenly curt. “If you don’t want to come with me, FINE! I’ll go on my own.”
You take a deep breath and try to slow things down a bit.
“Okay,” you say, “Can’t we order this Brownie thingie?”
“It’s not a thingie, and Marcy’s won’t do home delivery.”
“But Parsi Bakery does,” you remind her. “Why can’t we order from there?”
“Oh, but their chocolate chip brownies don’t have as many chips as the ones at Marcy’s.” She seems to have thought this one through. “Look, forget it. You sit and watch your bloody match. I’m leaving.” The door slams. She’s gone.
Considering last night’s mega-fight wasn’t fully resolved, you try to deduce by the tone of her voice whether ‘leaving’ means driving to Marcy’s or leaving you permanently. In the meantime, it is 18 runs to get from 8 balls, with two wickets in hand.
At this point, a man has two choices: either continue watching the match till the end, or dump the match and run after his woman, say ‘sorry’ 1,423 times, and do some groveling for good measure. No matter what he chooses to do, he learns a hard lesson: a woman’s craving is never just that.
Rather, it’s like one of those Buddhist koans that end with the Zen master giving one tight slap to his disciple, who is so shocked that he attains enlightenment. A woman’s craving is the gender equivalent of a Zen master’s mysterious slap. It has no explanation, and its only purpose is to remind a man who’s the real boss.
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