Women are not straightforward.
If men are bullets, then women are the gruyère placed beyond the rat’s reach, that will snap the trap, flick the (Hello Kitty) lever, send the fruit-knife flying through the rope, release the (pink) counterweight and activate the pulley system that both squeezes the trigger of afore-implied gun, and releases confetti. For kicks.
‘Why don’t you just ask him to limit his use of cups?’
‘You think I haven’t tried that? I even went on strike with the dishes, and when we ran out of glasses he had his nightcap in a bowl!’
(Whiskey in a cornflakes bowl; genius!)
‘But this is overkill, no?’
‘No, he’ll survive, and it’ll spare me having to kill him.’
Ah, newlyweds.
A few hours later her husband walks in with a grunt, heads to the kitchen, and comes out with his drink in a bowl.
‘Is that your scotch?’ she asks.
‘Yes, why?’
‘No reason. Enjoy.’
He stops and sniffs his drink. Their eyes lock for half a minute – but men are ill-equipped for these games.
The Gruyère is in place.
‘Bah.’ He shakes his head and throws the drink into a planter, then makes his way to the bathroom.
‘I’ve taped the toilet shut. Maybe it’ll remind him to put the seat down when he’s done.’
Something crashes, something smashes, and something meows in excruciating pain. Two minutes later he walks out victorious, but visibly shaken. He glares at her, and heads into the fridge for a snack.
‘You done with him?’ I ask.
We were roommates once, her and I; the woman has the determination of granite, and the patience of stalagmites.
‘Soon,’ she says. ‘He breaks today.’
Sandwich in hand, he throws his weight into an armchair and summons television. He’d survived the blunt impact of her wrath and was about to dig into his victory meal when she pulls a crocheting kit out of her bag. He was in the twilight zone.
‘This scene would be alright,’ he finally says, ‘except that she doesn’t know how to crochet.’
I know this; nor would she attempt to learn if her life depended on it. Masterful.
‘Is that the smoked ham from last night?’ she casually asks.
‘Fuck this shit.’ He storms out to the balcony and stares at the sunset; she does not crochet while she waits. In five minutes he’s back inside.
‘I apologize.’ he says.
‘Do you mean it?’
‘I do.’
‘Are you doing the dishes tonight?’
‘I am.’
‘OK. You can eat the sandwich.’
The anger of women has now been made concise: ‘You can eat the sandwich.’
I'm Karl, and I'm an acquired taste.
I've been an editor for 4 years, a writer for 5 more, and a geek ever since I wrote Pong on my first Atari. I'm married to the perfect woman and we live in the desert. 
I have to say, I’m a bit confused about exactly what’s going on here. You’ve lost me in some of the details, but I get your point, I think. The thing is that, I don’t see where the woman went wrong….or am I mistaken? (back me up here ladies) As usual, it seems like the husband made an ass of himself; and I too appreciate him drinking whiskey out of a cereal bowl, but only because he’s not my husband. And I have to say, crocheting isn’t always as easy as it looks. So I’m going to have to stick up for my girl and say that men are just bullets, period!
The only backup I can give both of you is by describing this picture I once received by email about a machine:
The first picture had buttons, lights (small ones and bigger ones, simple white and of various colors), switches, gears, voltage, numbers, scales etc. Beneath the loaded engine was written WOMAN.
The following picture had the same surface – the same machine – but with only one switch that said “ON” on top and “OFF” at the bottom.
Beneath the engine it said MAN.
I think it was a sex joke but when you think about it, it applies to what Karl is saying.
Now this wasn’t to show off at how Women are more complex (which is not always synonymous with “profound”) than Men.
It was to merely to make a picture worth the thousand words that yes:
While Men have an easier time going from point A to point B
(And often enough, their point is already just point A),
we (women) have a whole alphabet, imagery, process, emotional, twisted pathway we must go through in order to make sure he “guessed correctly” what we intend for him to figure out. Ma heik?
We’re still really cool nevertheless.
hahahahahha
this is so true
now am gonna make a sandwich
@Inna
Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m on her side as well; this is definitely one in favor of the ladies. But there is something to be said about the approach.
@Chirine
I’ve seen that. It was a sex joke and it’s very true. I’ll try to find the link and post it.
@IJ
Ana beddi, shoo 3am tliffi?
Since I don’t have an attachment option, here is the link where the picture appears. I beat you to it Karlitto
http://www.karenchronicle.com/Portals/0/webgraphics/Man-woman%20switches.jpg
@Sukoon
Now let’s imagine what body part each gizmo is attached to.
@Karl
Sure. We’ll split the task: I’ll take the upper section and you deal with the lower one.
As the great Christopher Titus said:
We men go “a, b, c, d, e…”
you women go “a, b, c, yellow, sky, granma, love, kitty, mauve, cute…”
woot!
you’re a geenus! 
loves it xxx
@JK
The magnificent utterances of Christopher Titus; haven’t seen enough episodes of that. You know you’re sitting on an ISP eh?
@Abir
Women who woot: we need more of them. Ooh, future article idea.
well, i don’t have that much of an experience of matters like these or that much concentration skills in reading.
but i did get into those kind of situations and the best way to solve it is in a nice way, because after that there would be a war at home, and after that war at home it could lead to bruising the relationship.
but yes, instead of taping the toilet seat, these people could have agreed to shut the whole thing (it even helps for hygiene) after use and whoever needs it open the seat depending on their own use. besides, if the seat was down we don’t really NEED to lift it, we can just hope for better aiming then just say oops.
well i had a lot of those kind of communication for living with another person but they never really worked, I don’t know if it was my fault or not.
cling film, saran wrap, whatever you call it + toilet seat. think about the possible consequences for just a moment.
brilliant, innit?
Reminds me of The Big Lebowski’s scene when he gets head shoved in the toilet and he’s questioned Where’z ze money Lebowsky? and about his wife and he goes “…w…wife?? Do I look married to you? Do you see a ring on this finger??? THE TOILET SEAT IS UP MAN!”
Oooooh that movie had me laughing out loud (lol ya3neh) so much when I first watched it in the theater.