I recently received a kind email from a very nice bisexual lady, who I'll name "K" to protect her anonymity. It was about some of the male-female, "battle of the sexes" nastiness that's been swirling around Dean's World lately. I wrote her a response that said some things that may have taken her aback, but I found them sufficiently provocative that I decided to re-post some of them here (with some editing, of course):

There is a monster in my living room right now, as I type this.

He weighs about 90 pounds. He has a long mouth full of sharp teeth and a jaw capable of putting down about 300 pounds per square inch of pressure. Also claws that have, just on accident, put scars on one of my arms. He could, at any time, rip my throat out in my sleep. Or kill my wife or child, similarly. Pretty scary, huh?

I'm not even kidding, by the way. He's physically capable of it.

It may surprise you, on the other hand, to know that he looks just exactly like this:

Yes, kitten and all--we have had several kittens traipse throught his house, and he's helped us raise every single one of them. Including several that we've rescued as strays and who how now live in good homes that we helped find for them. As well as all three of the (preening, pompous queen) kitties who live with us now.

Oh, and on the night that we were frightened of riots, during the blackout? He slept exactly where he knew he belonged: at my wife's feet. Made me wonder what I was there for. (Of course, Mr. Mossberg was also there to help the Mrs. out, while her big hairy husband trusted all three of them to protect us.)

By the way, yes, he was named after the cartoon. We also used to have a tiny little 2-pound ferret named Mindy, who he used to love. In fact, one time that little 2-pound spitfire brought the big dummy to his knees. Literally. They were playing, and she lept up and latched with those razor-sharp teeth of hers onto his lower lip. Rosemary and I were in the bedroom, and we suddenly heard this bloodcurdling screech: "YELP! YEEEELP! YEELP YEEELP YEEEELLLPPP!!!" It was coming out of the living room. We rushed out, and found the monster Buttons on his back. He was upside-down and helpless, with the 2-pound ferret Mindy latched onto his soft lips, refusing to let go.

"You big pussy!" Rosemary yelled. We had to reach down and gently unlatch the 2-pound furball's jaws from the monster's lips. He looked at us like we were the greatest and most Godlike people who had ever existed, simply for rescuing him from her evil clutches.

(Poor little Mindy died a couple of years ago. We still miss that little spitfire. And alas, poor Buttons is getting old, with his hips starting to give out. We figure we've got five more years with him, tops.)

By the way, have I ever mentioned that my wife is completely capable, if she wanted to, of waiting until I was asleep, and throwing a pot of boiling water upon me? Or pumping several rounds from Mr. Mossberg into my smelly hairy body, if she wanted to? Or just plunging a knife into me when I least expected it?

If she wanted to, I mean. Physically, she's quite capable of that. Somehow, I manage to sleep under the same roof with her anyway. Because I know she would never do that, even though many women have done all that and more to their husbands. Funny how that works.

My point? I think there is a social tendency to think that men are more able to take abuse, maybe even more deserving of it, because we're bigger and stronger. Because, you know, we are. Also, maybe we're gruffer and a little less emotional.

But most of us are as harmless as that picture above. We're also far more willing to please than we might seem at first. Also, generally speaking, we're far more easily hurt than we let on.

(This message dedicated to Rob who, while he may be a little misogynist at times, is someone I esteem above most men in the blogosphere. You're a brave sonofabitch, Acid Man, and I salute you.)