Recently I noticed a small thing about the Bear that has been driving me a bit crazy.

We’ve been man and Bear for nearly 33 years.  I’m not sure when this shit started.  It could have been going on since the 80’s without me noticing. There’s a lot of shit that gets by my short attention span.  But now it has reached epic proportions.

Whenever she refers to any thing about me or the things I like, she always adds this one adjective.

Like:

“Are you going to get your little car fixed?”

or

“Are you going to California with your little friends?”

What the Fuck.

Sure, my car may be smaller than hers.  I like small, fun cars. (Didn’t get to buy the Miata..)

Sure, I outweigh all of my friends by 50 pounds.  But why does everything have to be “little.”

Sometimes, she sneaks in that saracastic childish shit too.  Like:

“Are you going to ride your whittle bike?”

It’s a fucking $3000 carbon fiber bike for a fat biker, thank you very much.  There’s nothing “whittle” about it.

I can’t tell if she is being sarcastic or if she is still suffering the after effects of the stroke she had in 2006.

Logic does not seem to have any effect on her use of these useless adjective.

“Do you like your little shirt?”

Little shirt.  Jesus Christ, I’ve graduated to XXXL.  You know when I’m done with it they will recycle it to Africa and make 3 T-shirts out of my one shirt.  How the fuck is that “little.”

Of course, I’ve thought of the obvious — she is sending her man a clear message about him being “little.”

Maybe the Bear created this new emoji.

It’s the one “big” thing that most women can hold against men.  They feel they have exclusive knowledge on what is or is not the correct penis size.

I’ve been married and monogamous for so long, I honestly have no idea — and neither should she — god damn it.

A Little Fight

I once almost got in a fight with 7 women about penis size…

It was in the school lunch room at a junior high school in Mesa.  I was the only male English teacher, and the “department” was having lunch together.

One of the young female teachers was complaining about her sister-in-law.

“She only married that guy because he had the biggest dick she could find,” the teacher said.

Maybe that’s true.  But I argued that unless she was physically measuring every one of her boyfriend’s dicks, it was a subjective measurement.

“It’s all soft tissue rubbing together,” I said.  “It’s going to vary from day to day.  If I ask you to feel my biceps today, do you think you can tell me how big or small it is compared to different guy’s biceps next month?”

They all started clucking at once, and there were no more words I could get out against the crowd.

When they quieted down, one younger teacher looked me in the eye and said.  “Believe me, we can tell.”

I say, I “almost” got in a fight, because I knew enough to shut up.

I’m sure any more logic or rational thought from me was going to end in a Shakespeare quote: “Me thinks he doth protest too much” and the conclusion from the crowd that (sight unseen) I have a little dick.

I’ve heard enough about my “little” things at home.  I didn’t need a crowd telling me about it at work everyday.  So I guess the Bear can keep telling her “little” joke. Obviously, she’s doing it because it fucking irritates me. Obviously it irritates me because of the fragile male ego.

But before you women start feeling all superior and shit to us weak males, maybe I should start throwing in a few “bigs.”

“Are you going to pick up your big shoes?”

“Are you going to wear your big underwear?”

Maybe I can cure this “little” problem by going “big.”