I believe that, in general, women are saner than men.


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For example: If you see people who have paid good money to stand in
an outdoor stadium on a freezing December day wearing nothing on the
upper halves of their bodies except paint, those people will be male.

Without males, there would be no such sport as professional lawn
mower racing.

Also, there would be a 100 percent decline in the annual number of
deaths related to efforts to shoot beer cans off of heads.

There would be no such words as ``wedgie'' and ``noogie.''

Also, if women were in charge of all the world's nations there would
be --I sincerely believe this -- virtually no military conflicts, and
when there were a military conflict, everybody involved would feel
just awful and there would soon be a high-level exchange of
thoughtful notes written on greeting cards with flowers on the front,
followed by a Peace Luncheon (which would be salads, with the
dressing on the side).

So I sincerely believe that women are wiser than men, with the
exception of one key area, and that area is: clothing sizes. In this
particular area, women are insane.

When a man shops for clothes, his primary objective -- follow me
closely here -- is to purchase clothes that fit on his particular
body. A man will try on a pair of pants, and if those pants are too
small, he'll try on a larger pair, and when he finds a pair that
fits, he buys them. Most men do not spend a lot of time fretting
about the size of their pants. Many men wear jeans with the size
printed right on the back label, so that if you're standing behind a
man in a supermarket line, you can read his waist and inseam size. A
man could have, say, a 52-inch waist and a 30-inch inseam, and his
label will proudly display this information, which is basically the
same thing as having a sign that says: ``Howdy! My bottom is the size
of a Federal Express truck!''

The situation is very different with women. When a woman shops for
clothes, her primary objective is NOT to find clothes that fit her
particular body. She would like for that to be the case, but her
primary objective is to purchase clothes that are the size she wore
when she was 19 years old. This will be some arbitrary number such as
``8'' or ``10.'' Don't ask me ``8'' or ``10'' of what; that question
has baffled scientists for centuries. All I know is that if a woman
was a size 8 at age 19, she wants to be a size 8 now, and if a size 8
outfit does not fit her, she will not move on to a larger size: She
can't! Her size is 8. So she will keep trying on size 8 items, and
unless they start fitting her, she will become extremely unhappy.
She may take this unhappiness out on her husband, who is waiting
patiently in the mall, perhaps browsing in the Sharper Image store,
trying to think of how he could justify purchasing a pair of
night-vision binoculars.

``Hi!'' he'll say, when his wife finds him. ``You know how sometimes
the electricity goes out at night and . . '

``Am I fat?'' she'll ask, cutting him off.

This is a very bad situation for the man, because if he answers
``yes,'' she'll be angry because he's saying that she's fat, and if
he answers ``no,'' she'll be angry because HE'S OBVIOUSLY LYING
BECAUSE NONE OF THE SIZE 8's FIT HER. There is no escape for the
husband. I think a lot of unexplained disappearances occur because
guys in malls see their wives unsuccessfully trying on outfits, and
they realize their lives will be easier if, before their wives come
out and demand to know whether they're fat, the guys just run off and
join a UFO cult.

The other day my wife, Michelle, was in a terrific mood, and you know
why? Because she had successfully put on a size 6 outfit. She said
this made her feel wonderful. She said, and this is a direct quote:
``I wouldn't care if these pants were this big (here she held her
arms far apart) as long as they have a `6' on them.''

Here's how you could get rich: Start a women's clothing store called
``SIZE 2,'' in which all garments, including those that were
originally intended to be restaurant awnings, had labels with the
words ``SIZE 2.'' I bet you'd sell clothes like crazy. You'd probably
get rich, and you could retire, maybe take up some philanthropic
activity to benefit humanity. I'm thinking here of professional lawn
mower racing.





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