What’s the deal with most women taking so long to order at a restaurant?
Within seconds of receiving a menu, a man can make up his mind as to what he wants. He probably already had to wait extra time while she primped and gussied up before even getting in the car. Now he has to wait even longer while the waiter patiently stands ready to take the order.
And it’s even worse if it’s a group and there are three or four who suffer the same indecision dilemma.
Yeah, I know what you mean, man. Like, sometimes I just want to watch football and go hunting, but my woman won’t stop talking about shopping and doing her nails.
That’s sarcasm, Hungry. What I’m actually getting at is that you’re stupid. Well, I probably shouldn’t say that. Your question is stupid; I don’t know you. It’s possible you’re brilliant. I just don’t think it’s very likely.
Because, see, here’s what you’re saying: A full half of the human population — half being roughly 3.5 billion people — is unable to efficiently order food at a restaurant while the other half — because of its inherent decisiveness (And what? Chest hair?) — barely even needs a menu at all. That theory is ridiculous right on the face of it. It’s the same “Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus” pablum that launched a million lame sitcom laugh tracks. This is the 21st century, Hungry. We’re better than this now.
Or we should be, anyway.
Let me hip you to something, Hungry: Women are — and I know this might blow your mind — just like regular people. You know why? Because they are regular people. So to reduce them to a set of characteristics that is supposed to apply to the whole 3.5 billion of them is a little, well, stupid.
What’s that, Hungry? Oh, you said “most women.” Well, pardon me. Does that mean it only applies to 3 billion of them? Maybe 3.2 billion? It’s still a gross generalization.
Look, man, I’m not saying there are no differences between genders. There may be some stereotypes that, through a mix of biology and societal pressure, have some basis in reality. But I couldn’t find any valid information related to this menu-ordering stereotype of yours. And, frankly, it’s a pretty insulting one based on a set of heteronormative beliefs I think we’d all be better to get beyond.
Here’s you: “I don’t even need a menu. Just give me a big, rare steak, sauteed in the tears of the weak.”
And here’s your wife/girlfriend: “Oh, God. He’s at it again. What a boor. Well, I suppose I probably ought to decide what to eat. But I’ve spent so much time being embarrassed by this guy I’m with, I haven’t even looked at the menu yet. Waiter, can I have another moment, please?”
Waiter: “Sure, no problem.”
Hope that helps.