Maybe it IS Rocket Science...

Unfortunately, I don't give refunds. See, these little tidbits of literary candy are free, so upon your (stunning) possible dissatisfaction, my only option is to try just that much harder to please you. Your apparent call for a "do-over" has been justly noted.

Here's my feeble attempt at a rebound.

I'm really not a man hater, and no, I don't think "you" includes the entire male population on planet earth, or elsewhere. I simply shove my opinion down your eager little throats as requested. Aren't I kind?

Conversely, I find your company quite pleasing, so much so in fact, that I have a robust tendency to prefer your company over the company of most women (yes, I said most, and no, ladies, I won't respond to catty -- hiss hiss -- comments). Capiche?

My respect for you grows as your expectation continues to rise, and with that being said, I'm flipping the coin. As a friend of mine would say, "this one's for the ladies."

Guys, I'm profoundly aware of the recondite annoyance of women. I've been overheard on more than one occasion stating the obvious -- "I'm glad I'm female, because had I entered this life as a man, women would drive me crazy."

Most of us have no idea what we want, and we expect you to not only know, but to also provide us with such to our in⋅du⋅bi⋅ta⋅ble satisfaction.

Yes, that's crazy, and no, I don't blame you for the collective eye-rolls and side-stepping of our oh-so-barmy company.

I'm actually quite happy that Edward, and his leviathan affect on the multi-generational female psyche, finally exists.

Why, you ask? Well, it's quite simple. You may be thinking I'm going to say it's because you finally have a realistic idea of what women really want (nix the pseudo-vampire persona). Well, here's where my coin flip applies.

I'm fractionally giggly, because while women are swooning like tabbies in heat, they still have no idea why. I find that peculiar. I'm sure you do too.

Here's the gist. You really do have a point.

Ladies, put your claws back in. Edward is awkward, skinny (skinny = sexy in my assessment, but disregard that groundless comment), and pale. He is a *tad* overwhelming, and if he were your common boy next door, you'd likely think him a weirdo.

In real, bona fide, card-carrying life, you'd completely ignore him -- even if he tried to give you money (and don't hit me with the "'it all depends how much'" line, because I'm not buyin' it, and if you do, you're not only idiosyncratic, but also a hooker). Where do all of you think this leaves the real guys? Your harebrained sanctions for "normal" behavior are of your own construction, and well, my heartfelt congratulations to you, because you've outdone the guys.

I won't put my "Michelle's Top Ten Reasons (insert female persona here) is Better Than All the Other Erratic Women Out There" into action until (and if) I get a *qualified nominee.

Until then, I'll summarize just for the sake of clarity. You women are swooning because you are confused (shocking, I know). You've packed up all your neat little garments made of 100% pure expectation and you're planning to move to vampire-island, where bountiful disappointment awaits (alongside your orders of pretty, yummy drinks), because your blood-sucking love interest is sure to be sleeping in the dog house within seventy-two hours of your arrival.

It's true, shut up.

He'll come to sweep you up into the magical trees, and your warm, little, welcoming self will kindly provide him with a gratudial verbal tirade (that would chase him right back to Italy, into the welcoming arms of the Volturi), because either A) You don't like to be treated that way, or B) He didn't anticipate the fact that you were in the "mood" for a quiet, sullen evening with a salad and a spritzer.

I know! The absolute nerve of some people.



*Qualified in this case consists of a female character, bound by the same tantamount (look it up) standards as "our" dreamy, muddle-haired Edward.

Bring "her" on, I'm all over this one.