The manopausal male is prone to groin injury and identifies closely with football cliches--especially when the coach announces, "Next man up!" The older male, in fact, often wishes that he could call in a substitute from the sidelines . . . a man, perhaps, who is fresh out of virility college and has earned a master's degree in romance and metal-craft.
When the manopausal male hits the turf hard, he rarely gets up quickly. Rather, he lingers on the ground until his wife rushes down from the stands, offers the appropriate sympathy, and agrees to rub his entire body with Aspercreme. He knows she wants it, but he parlays the injury with sorrowful moans until she also fixes him a grilled cheese sandwich and a steaming bowl of chicken soup. And if his wife has the heft (and the kind of deep resiliency a good wife should have) she might also carry him home on a stretcher.
While he's healing from his cotton candy injuries, the manopausal male may call another man up to do work around the house . . . a carpenter, perhaps, or some guy named "Randy" who is adept at changing light bulbs or fixing a shower nozzle. The manopausal male trusts that this next man up will be worth the $95 service call (plus parts and sales tax), and that the next man's help will provide him with the appropriate window in which to heal from his back injury . . . a soreness that began when he rolled over in his sleep the night before.
Naturally, the manopausal male hopes to be back on his feet soon, but he does enjoy catching up on Days of Our Lives and watching Judge Judy. He could get used to the pace, and imagines this is what retirement must be like . . . only with his wife at home, too, where of course, they will share endless romance on that tiny two-cushion thingy she purchased four years ago at a yard sale.
The older male hopes that his injuries do not cause him to be cut from the team--and without pay. Although he is only a shadow of his former self, he still dreams of carrying the ball across the goal line and would love to negotiate a new contract. He doesn't want his wife ogling the sidelines for a substitute male, and is grateful to be under her coaching tutelage.
When the manopausal male hits the turf hard, he rarely gets up quickly. Rather, he lingers on the ground until his wife rushes down from the stands, offers the appropriate sympathy, and agrees to rub his entire body with Aspercreme. He knows she wants it, but he parlays the injury with sorrowful moans until she also fixes him a grilled cheese sandwich and a steaming bowl of chicken soup. And if his wife has the heft (and the kind of deep resiliency a good wife should have) she might also carry him home on a stretcher.
While he's healing from his cotton candy injuries, the manopausal male may call another man up to do work around the house . . . a carpenter, perhaps, or some guy named "Randy" who is adept at changing light bulbs or fixing a shower nozzle. The manopausal male trusts that this next man up will be worth the $95 service call (plus parts and sales tax), and that the next man's help will provide him with the appropriate window in which to heal from his back injury . . . a soreness that began when he rolled over in his sleep the night before.
Naturally, the manopausal male hopes to be back on his feet soon, but he does enjoy catching up on Days of Our Lives and watching Judge Judy. He could get used to the pace, and imagines this is what retirement must be like . . . only with his wife at home, too, where of course, they will share endless romance on that tiny two-cushion thingy she purchased four years ago at a yard sale.
The older male hopes that his injuries do not cause him to be cut from the team--and without pay. Although he is only a shadow of his former self, he still dreams of carrying the ball across the goal line and would love to negotiate a new contract. He doesn't want his wife ogling the sidelines for a substitute male, and is grateful to be under her coaching tutelage.
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