Thursday, 28 January 2010

Stripping Away the Layers

It seems a bit decadent entering two days running but tonight, being Thursday, conveniently affords itself to some discussion I have often been puzzled by. Being the other half of an exceedingly long-term long-distance relationship, I am privileged to hear about the significance of the day.

In Leeds, Thursdays are “Man Day”, something I hear about but can't quite grasp. It is sold as the night men, or boys as I prefer to call them (I am not sure I will ever cross the immortal boundary and become a “woman”), sit around in their pants. That is just the hard sale. In reality I am told, it is the night when boys would like to sit around in their pants but settle for comfy clothes, a few drinks, take-away or a pie (something I will also never “get”) and a violent movie or horror film (something which I entirely embrace).

Why Thursdays? Thursdays are the day when the Leeds-based other female half goes out and my significant “other” keeps “him” company. That all makes sense to me. It is the whole sitting around in your pants thing that could never possibly seem appealing.

Why pants? Like you (if you are reading this and most probably female), it is the question I am least able to comprehend an answer to. When I desperately try to fathom the mystery that is man, I am told that there is a feeling of complete freedom “chillaxing” in your underwear and of course easy access for those lonesome times that men are famously able to fill with one legendary activity.

Nothing sounds more horrific to me and maybe I am not alone? Sitting around in my pants by myself is something I have never been prone to. It is enough to convince me food and alcohol are evil and should never be consumed. It is enough to help me almost understand an anorexic or bulimic's viewpoint.

When a regular feature in the days when I lived in one place that I could call home, “Girl's Night” was merely a chance to catch up with friends, occasionally have a night out on the town, however sedate, and remind myself that, despite the company I kept on a daily basis, I was not actually born a boy.

Parading around or sinking into the sofa in pants, never featured. Girls night was a night to try to make myself resemble the human being I had alluded for most of the week. Why is it that a night out or in with the girls means attempting to dress attractively and escape from the drudge of everyday life, whereas a night “out” with the boys, seems to result in near nudity or at least the desire to strip away the layers?

Tonight I had my very own “one-on-one” girl action while my partner most probably dreamt about being able to sit around in his underwear.

No comments:

Post a Comment