Boys 2 Men

I read something recently that got me thinking. Wish I could say I've been boning up on Carl Sagan,  but I haven't and, besides, that sounds kind of pervy. It was an excerpted piece from the book by the very funny Mindy Kaling, and in it she talked about how many grown women end up dating perpetual high schoolers. Mindy has her own ideas about what separates the men from the boys (besides chest hair),  but her main philosophy is this: men aren't scared of committment. Not committment to a woman, necessarily, but a committment to their own lives. A committment, as Mindy says, to not floating around anymore. A boy floats from job to job, apartment to apartment, spontaneous road trip to spontaneous road trip, never accumulating anything that can't be sold, abandoned, or stored in his parents' basement because he just isn't the type to be tied down by material things, baby.

This is something I know a little about. It's safe to say my friends and I have known enough man child types to stock a VERY well-attended Peter Pan convention. So put down the Xbox controllers and listen up.

Grown men do what they say they're going to do. It's that simple. I'm not talking about an ill-advised, tequila driven, "Yes! We should absolutely go shark diving" plan. That's just testosterone, and you did agree it sounds like fun... No, I'm talking about the much smaller scale stuff. You're going to come help me put up that shelf?  Great. How's Saturday? You'll drive me to the airport? Awesome - my flight's at 8. You've got the first round next time? Bottoms up. Don't be the sometime guy. "We should hang out sometime." "I'll make you dinner sometime." " Let's play pool sometime." Boys sometime you. Grown men do what they said they would. If you can't commit to the smallest things, I'm not likely to trust you with the bigger things. Like my housekeys. Or my heart. And I've spent way too much of my adult life wondering just when the hell "sometime" really is. Is it Central Time? Greenwich Mean Time? Daylight savings? Fuck. 

Men own things. Grown-up things. I don't mean houses, necessarily, or really nice cars, because those things aren't important to everybody. But a grown man owns more than two plates. And sheets that match. Men have actual bookshelves. And a teakettle. You don't need to have lots of throw pillows or anything. If  you do, we probably have a lot in common. Like a dirty crush on Anderson Cooper. Men can't pack everything they own into their car "just in case". In case what, exactly? You witness a gangland killing? Little tip for you: if you do happen to witness a gangland killing, I'm pretty sure the fact that your bootleg Marillion albums are in a milk crate and ready to go won't be your biggest concern. Buying furniture tells me you aren't going anywhere, and it tells me you're happy to just hang out, somewhere warm and cozy. Which bodes well for my cleavage. "I'm only there to sleep" was a fine rationale for that skeevy hostel in Portugal in 1999, but not so great for your home. And you can only use "but your place is just so much more comfortable" for so long.  Because that doesn't make me think you have a lumpy sofa; it makes me think you have a live-in girlfriend.

Grown men expect you to call them on their bullshit, at least some of the time. It's awkward for me to bring this up. Not because I have a problem giving my opinion, but because turnabout is fair play, I can be a moody caustic bitch,  and having it pointed out is up there with dental surgery on my list of unfavourite things. But a grown man will respect you for telling him when he's being a jerk. Seriously. At least the good ones will. Because a grown man doesn't want you to be a pushover.  Many guys will tell you they hate confrontation. Who doesn't? But what they really mean is they hate being called on their assholery. Do not let this deter you. But think it through. Is a man who'd prefer to watch a hockey game instead of going to a Katherine Heigl movie really an asshole? I'd argue he might just be the only rational person in the room.  And really - you'd make him do that? Who's really the asshole here?

I know it's different for everybody. My immature, unthoughtful jerk may be your boyishly distracted dream guy. Actually, he probably is, given how quickly the men I've dated have moved on. And god knows there are plenty of women who are still floating around, too, because life does seem easier before you own occasional chairs and four types of wine glasses. But being a grown up can be pretty great too (no roommates! sex on the occasional chairs!). So really, gentlemen, isn't it time to commit to being a grown up? It's not that hard:  do what you say you will, buy a real coffee table and, whatever you do, don't let me go to the new Katherine Heigl movie. Unless that's your way of telling me I'm being a bitch,  in which case I deserve it.  Don't you feel more grown up already?