Confessions Of A Sensitive Man

I am a man. Sometimes I am an asshole, even I’ll admit that. I have a demanding demeanor at work, and am not afraid to delegate responsibilities to my subordinates, who likely fear me. Outside of work, I grab beers with the boys and talk sports, business, and women. We burp, fart, chew tobacco, and call each other vile names, because that’s what men do. We even talk about each other’s hot sisters and how we want to bang them. Sorry, but it’s true.

With all that said and done, deep down inside is a fragile ego created by a caring, sweet, and mentally unstable mother. I am a “mama’s boy” through and through. Most of us are, really — we just don’t talk about it because it would take away from our beards and love of a good prime cut. Our mothers, no matter how much we complain about them, are our world and they raised us to be princes when we were really just frogs. Even as I write this, I think to myself, “How did she always put up with my shit?” Regardless, her unconditional love mixed with my father’s life lessons created a powerhouse titan on the outside with the delicacy of a precarious flower on the inside. Now that I am in a serious relationship, I compiled the list below on how you can make your man’s day, because chances are, he’s just a giant pussy sometimes.

Call me babe, baby, sweetie, or any other pet name. This one is simple and probably obvious, but it’s worth mentioning. When you whip out a simple “baby” in passing conversation, I cower every time. I hold back a smile and carry on like nothing happened, but I assure you, something happened. A grown-ass man just felt like a loved and yearned human being. Yes, men have that just as women do, and when it’s satisfied, the day could end at any point and be a successful one.

Little spoon. Stop. Just stop. The earth spins at 1,040 miles per hour but stands still when you wrap your arms around me as big spoon. This is the Mecca. The Holy Grail. Nothing says “I know you have a sensitive ego but I will look after it with care” like being my big spoon. Shit, I’m almost tearing up just writing this. Look, I love being big spoon. My manly arms wrapped around you, knowing they make you feel safe is as wonderful for me as it is for you. And although one arm is asleep (with your hair in my mouth and an awkward boner poking you), the fact that the other is nestled between your boobs makes it all worth it (spoiler: men like boobs). I prefer this nine times out of ten, however uncomfortable. The other one of ten, that of you nurturing my embarrassingly but otherwise undeniable need for being taken care of, makes an oftentimes miserable life worth living.

Flirting with me when I’m trying to work. The combination of my business acumen and your love creates something wonderful but unexplainable. At work, I am colossus and like to pretend I am important and needed. Combine that with you seeking attention in a playful manner, and at that moment I am a gentleman at its finest. You poking me, trying to pinch me with your toes, or throwing things at me while I draft an email to a client, no matter how burdensome and annoying I pretend like it is, is always welcomed.

Talk positively about my family, especially my mother. I say some terrible things about my mother, as all 7 billion people on earth have. I also understand the effort and patience it takes to raise tiny, ungrateful shits. Don’t ever, EVER talk badly about my mother. On the contrary, when I’m frustrated with her and you remind me how difficult motherhood must be while scratching my neck, I will guaranteed fall in love with you more. Understanding the complicated dynamic between a man and his mother is like understanding complicated theories of astrophysics, and we notice it every time—even if we don’t acknowledge it.

Randomly grab my hand or show quick public affection. I personally don’t like PDA, I think it shows weakness (haha, I just realized the irony in saying that while I write this column). But it’s true; a man should not be all over his girl in public. That said, when we’re walking and you grab my hand or give me a quick kiss, I melt. Somewhere inside this standing testament of testosterone is my 1991 4-year-old self holding a teddy bear and sucking on my thumb. It says “You’re mine” in a subtle way. It lets me look like a man on the outside but feel like the center of your world on the inside. In other words, it’s fucking magical.

Tell me a movie or song made you think about me. This one’s kind of stupid, but it happens enough for me to list. We all have that one song that reminds us of someone important, whether it was listening to it with them in the car or singing it together drunk at a bar. When we are not together and that song plays, we definitely think of you but would rarely, if ever, tell you so. However, when we get a random text that says “Biggie Smalls’ ‘Fuck Bitches Get Money’ was just on the radio and it made me think of you,” suddenly we’re at the center of the universe. Someone cares about us so much, that when we were temporarily separated, we were at the forefront of their mind. Now that’s feeling important, something everyone craves.

I’m not saying every guy feels these things, just 99.9%. Seriously, we’re humans and have emotions, but society has created the standard of man being a whiskey-drinking bear-fighter who doesn’t have emotions. Emotions are impossible to ignore and sometimes impossible to hide. A man is lying to you and to himself if he disagrees with at least 4 of the 6. Hi Mom.