There is no denying it; I became a musician to impress females. In fact, everything I’ve ever done, every decision I’ve ever made in my entire life has been with those intentions in mind. “What is going to get me the largest pool of women from which to choose a suitable mate,” is the barbaric and instinctual simplicity of my entire thought process.

That being said, I’ve always been a one woman kind of guy. Who could possibly keep up with more than one at a time, right? I can barely handle keeping up with just one. And the one I got now is pretty fantastic, if I do say so myself.

She’s super intelligent, hard-working, hilarious, strong-willed, and stunningly beautiful. Part of her strong-willedness comes from having attended a women’s liberal arts college. Of course, a sometimes frustrating down-side to that is the constant correction of male-implicative terminology (i.e.: manhole, fireman, policeman, “you guys”, etc.). I’ve had to think twice before speaking for so many years now, I think I might actually be getting the hang of speaking only in non-gender specific lingo (i.e.: utility hole, firefighter, police officer, “everbody”). At least, I thought I was until last Thursday evening.

I had been discussing bourbon at the bar with a gentlemen who took notice of my having ordered myself some, neat with a splash of water, during my break. He was a middle-aged man sitting next to his wife. My “training” has taught me to always make sure to engage the female in the conversation by making eye contact, even when you’re only talking to the male, so I was doing my best to effortlessly do so without looking like I was having to really concentrate on it. But I was having to concentrate on it, which makes me unable to pay attention to the discussion  at hand.

Worse yet, as the conversation ended and it was time for me to begin my next set, the only thought going through my mind (also because of my intense brain-washing “training”) was, “don’t say, ‘have a good night guys!‘” And I didn’t. Phew! However, I did say, “have a goodnight ladies,” even though the only person to whom I’d actually spoken was the husband.

Now I can’t help but assume that the next words spoken after I walked away were, “did he just call us ‘ladies?'” And that, inevitably, this gentleman drove back and forth to work for the next several days trying to figure out what in God’s name could have made me do such a thing. Which course, made me think of this:

Yes, I know there’s an ad at the beginning of it, but if you’ve not seen this, please watch until the end because it’s exactly how I must’ve made this guy feel. I really hope I didn’t give him an aneurysm. How often do you think you might have done something similar to someone?