Charlie is fantastic. And it’s really nice to have at least one neighbor who isn’t a total nut job. But I’m still confused as to how you could like all the same things as me and not like ball-busting. I mean, I guess if you don’t have them the concept could be a little foreign. But it seems like if you can appreciate a perfectly executed alley-oop, a devastating roundhouse kick or death by giant venomous snake, you would, by default, be a pro at the fine art of razzing. But I’ve learned my lesson, and as always, the lesson is: Women make my head hurt.
It’s possible that Charlie makes my head hurt even more than other women do. Most women are crazy; I accept that. But Charlie is not crazy: She loves sports and motorcycles and doesn’t tally up the day’s calories before she decides to have a beer. This is rational behavior. But then she has moments like the freak out over my comment about her posterior. That’s like whiplash for my brain. Having my brain in normal Mike Baxter gear and having to keep my female gear at the ready in one conversation is not easy. I’m gonna wear out this clutch in no time.
Charlie probably has to do the same thing at home. But maybe not…maybe when she’s watching “Caught on Film: Top 10 Things Sent Airborne By Tornadoes” she’s simultaneously having a conversation about, I don’t know, emotions or something. The very thought of it makes my skin crawl. Also, how could Charlie and Rebecca possibly have enough room in the bathroom? We’re running out of real estate on our counter, and that’s with only one of us stockpiling beauty products like they’ve just been outlawed.
Whoa, something just occurred to me: I wonder if Charlie watches Rocky and doesn’t dream of punching a guy in the gut so hard it ruptures their grandfather’s spleen. She might watch that and think, “Boy, I wish I could just get in the ring with Apollo and two chairs…and we’ll just sit and discuss all our problems at agonizing length.”