A Modern Day Samson and Delilah

To all the fellas out there, I know you’ve heard this before, but I am going to officially join the millions (and millions) of guys before me and say that you cannot win against a woman. There’s just no way. It’s not possible, especially when it comes to making bets.

Men win bets simply because women let us. Women play to our needs knowing that we need instant gratification so they give us the quick and easy wins.

“Haha, you have to sing “I’m a Little Teapot” in public and you have to do all the motions.”

“Hizzah, make me a banana cream pie. Wait, why don’t you make that twoooo...and three quarters.”

“Heh heh, that’s right girlie, get underneath the table and do your thang while I have a nice conversation about politics and religion with your parents over dinner, yeah, yeah"...

...Okay, so not all these really happened. A second banana cream pie would have been nice...

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned though. To a woman, a guy winning a bet is like a tremor undetectable to the most sensitive of seismic equipment. It’s not really a big deal.

“‘I’m a Little Teapot?’ How about I wear a backpack with fake explosives and do it in Arabic in the middle of synagogue on Passover?”

But women are cruel like that. They toy with our emotions and monitor our happy meter; eventually all the little tremors build up into something catastrophic that blows up in our face:

“Wear that pink shirt, bitch.”

Or in my case earlier a few weeks ago,

“Stop being a wuss and lift up your arms so I can shave your pits.”

Yet another example of how a man’s misery can bring about a woman’s happiness.