Throughout the years there is a phrase that everyone who gets to know me well enough has uttered more than once, “You look like a girl but you think like a dude.”

When a girl starts talking and telling me about her day, an amazing thing happens. I go partially deaf and can only hear a slight murmur in the background of my thoughts. It’s only loud enough for me to hear when she’s paused to take a breath and I know that’s my que to say, “Huh uh.”

It gets worse if she starts asking me what I’m thinking or god forbid, what I’m feeling! Before she can finish asking me, I’m already looking for the door and racking my brain for a feasible escape plan.

Another thing that always gets me labeled with a “boy brain” is that I don’t cuddle. Actually I can’t stand it. I’m sorry to admit it but on more than one occasion I’ve been guilty of leaving post-whoopee-pre-cuddle. I mean immediately after wards, as I beg for forgiveness for my swift exit, spinning some excuse as I hop on one foot while putting the other shoe on. Every hop getting me closer to the door. Until I apologetically close the door behind me and breath a deep sigh of relief as I feel my freedom rush over me with the breeze. The only thing marring that wonderful sensation is the sound of a shoe slamming against the barely closed door. I duck anyway, out of habit. Then happily and maybe slightly guilty, swagger to my car trying to suppress a devious smile

I suppose if those traits earn me the label of having a “boy brain” than I can’t argue too much. I realize that the women branding me with it probably don’t mean it as a compliment but I don’t mind. Apparently, neither do they. At least not until the hopping starts.

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