The Old Coot isn’t “real.”
By Merlin Lessler
Real men don’t cry, not when John Wayne was king anyhow. Maybe
real men do cry once in a while, but they try not to. Here’s an acid test to
see if you are a real man. “Do you cut a sandwich in half, or eat it whole with
one hand?” Another one is, “Real men love hotdogs.” Someone might object, “Do
you know what hot dogs are made of?” Real men say they don’t care; they like
them. Fine dining for a real man is ordering a deluxe hamburger with all the
fixings and double onions. Real men drink coffee, not lattes. Real men wear
work boots, even with shorts. High fashion is wearing a pair of jeans with a
Levis or Wrangler tag.
Meat is their go to health food. It makes perfect sense. Meat
comes from animals that are vegetarians. For real men, a luxury vehicle is a
four-door pickup truck. Real men don’t let on that they can play the piano or
admit they like some of Taylor Swift’s songs. Real men never leave a partially,
full glass of beer behind when they leave a bar. Old coots like me, like to
pretend we are real men, but it’s hard to live up to the image when you go
around with your shirt on inside out and a pair of glasses on top of your head
asking if anyone has seen your glasses.
Real men don’t complain about things; they fix them. Old
coots just complain. Real men live life in the present; old coots go on and on about
the good old days. Especially the ones when they thought they were real men.
Now we’re just plain old men, ordering hotdogs whenever we get the chance. With
mustard, never ketchup. Ketchup goes on hamburgers. We used to think McDonald’s
was crazy, putting both mustard and ketchup on a burger. We’d scrape off the
mustard. Now, we don’t care; we’re not real men.
Comments? Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com
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