That defeat comes in many forms. There’s the get-a-strip-torn-off-you-public form, which has the added humiliation of being surrounded by spectators. No one’s your friend at such events. The women nod in hearty agreement, convinced, even without knowing the facts, that you’re getting what you deserve. The men snicker at you, childishly gleeful it’s not them.
Or there’s the you-got-totally-annihilated form, where she hits you with so many indefensible complaints at the same time, all you can do is shamefully hang your head and pray for a quick end.
Or there’s the go-straight-to-the-doghouse version, where she informs you that you’re sleeping on the couch for the night, even though it’s your house and she’s the one who moved in with you.
Let’s face it. It’s not easy losing arguments when you’re a man. The presiding judge, who also happens to be your accuser, tends to throw the book at you – or anything else she can get her hands on if she’s truly incensed. In the old west, she’d be known as a “hanging judge”.
Yet defeat, though frequent, is not the worst part of arguing with a woman. The worst part is that rare occasion when you eke out a technical victory. Those are what are known as Pyrrhic Victories, best described by old Pyrrhus himself, who was heard to say, “One more victory like that and we shall be utterly ruined.”
I had just such a moment the other day. It was a trivial matter. I made a wager with a lady on Twitter. Her Cincinnati Bengals were playing my Pittsburgh Steelers, so we agreed that whoever’s team lost, that person would change his/her gravatar to the winner’s team emblem. Harmless enough bet, right?
Yes, well, I won, then made the mistake of quasi-gloating with the following post: “After 2 formal marriages, 5 common-law marriages, and 20+ additional relationships, this is my first victory against a woman!”
Another woman saw this and interceded: “LOL Are you going to let him get away with that?”
Me, pressing my luck: “She doesn’t have a choice. It’s in the bag. In real life, of course, any victory would be short-lived. ”
First woman: “I am not going to let @rjsilverauthor get away with that! I wouldn’t call it conquering a woman so much as getting a lucky win!”
Me, sensing danger: “I didn’t say I conquered a woman. I wouldn’t be that foolish! I said it was my first victory.”
First woman, regrouping: “and..technically a day ends at midnight, right? We didn’t specify a whole day!”
Me, running for the hills while I still can: “And, as predicted, my victory was short-lived. The day may be whatever you wish it to be!”
The moral of the story? Women always want us to talk more, to share our deepest thoughts and feelings with them. But don’t fall for it, men. It’s a booby trap, because the moment we open our mouths, we tend to make boobies of ourselves.
Besides, what do we have to gain? Victory or defeat, we’re going to pay a price either way.