It's a Friday afternoon, and I find myself stuck in a vehicle, on my way to a convention in San Francisco. My traveling companions: four co-workers who all happen to be of the female persuasion.
Let me also point out that not only are all of my traveling companions women, but they are women who openly talk about virtually anything. At least it sure seemed like that to me, the borderline-horrified male along with them.
I have no idea what happened in that car to San Francisco and back. Really, I don't. Maybe they were bored and therefore opened up; maybe I did something unintentionally to make them comfortable enough to engage in "girl talk" with me present. Whatever happened, though, I came out of that little experience with some inside knowledge about what women talk about. As a public service--after all, that is what my column is about--I will now share this knowledge with my male readers. My female readers, if there are any, may also read on as well, as long as they promise not to send me nasty letters. Thank you.
1. Women are somewhat preoccupied with sex. All told, I was in that vehicle for about 10 hours, and for approximately 9 hours and 52 minutes of that time, the women talked about sex. It was strange. Listening to them, you would have thought that it impossible for any man not to get a very interesting date on a Saturday night, as long as he keeps his body-odor outputs at a minimum. Anyway, they were quite graphic about how they enjoyed the, um, company of their various men. I should also note that the two unmarried women with boyfriends were far more vocal about this topic than the married women. I am sure this means something.
2. Women discuss farting way more than you would suspect. When the women weren't discussing whoopee, they were discussing flatulence. Before this little trip, in my jaded little mind, I had imagined that women did not discuss their rectal gas-emission activities as much as men. Folks, this is not true. The women were openly, freely and proudly talking about each others' tooting habits, complete with critiques. For example, one of them told another that if she wanted to keep her boyfriend, she'd better keep her "outbursts" to herself. I half expected them to subsequently engage in a rousing exhibition of "pull my finger." Thankfully, they refrained. If they hadn't, I probably would jumped from a moving vehicle along Interstate 80. Once again, I should note that the two unmarried women with boyfriends were far more vocal about this topic than the married women. I am SURE this means something
3. Women are into really disgusting stories. I suppose the above two items lead into this one. Anyway, it is true. Some of the stories that were told in that car by my co-workers are barely printable here (editor's note: the same could be said, quality-wise, for the rest of this stupid column.) However, I will say that one of these stories involved an instance of a young kitten, not yet litter-box trained, leaving a pile of kitty product on a brand new electric blanket, a blanket which ended up cooking that said kitty product. This story, which is undeniably disgusting, had some of the other women in the car laughing so hard that we almost had to stop for an emergency wee-wee break. I, meanwhile, tried to hide underneath my seat.
However, I managed to survive this trip, as evidenced by the fact that you are now reading this column. I hope this trauma may end up helping someone, so that some good can come out of this tragic car trip.
Finally, a word of advice to any men out there: Clip and save this column for the next time your wife/girlfriend/sister/mistress criticizes you for tooting or talking about sex or saying something gross. That way, you can show them that you know they do the exact same thing.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who emphatically points out that he did NOT vote for the Tribune masthead that has ran since Sunday. His column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be e-mailed at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.