Hey, Uncle Sal. How come every time I ask somebody how they're doing, they tell me what day it is? Perplexed in Paducah
PiP, this tells me yer in the terrible predicament of working in an office. But hey, didn't you say you was from Paducah? I didn't know there was any offices in Paducah.
But nonetheless, here's what I think about yer question. I remember this silly behavior from when I worked in an office. All these cubicle dwellers seem to think their mood is tied to the day of the week. Namely, the closer they are to Friday, the better their mood. You know and I know that this ain't the truth no matter how many times we hear some dope say, "I'm doin' pretty good...for a Thursday." Other cubicle farmers though, this is all they have to cling to. That's why you'll see cubicles decorated with stupid posters like this one. For them Friday at quittin' time is as good as things get. Now, that don't make their answers valid, but that's why you hear this nonsense.
My advice to you is to eject from life on the cubicle farm. Me, I ain't worked in an office in I can't tell ya how long. All work does is take away from your free time. So I say, tell your boss what he can do with your job duties and lead a life of leisure like me.
Uncle Sal why is it that women talk so much yet say so little? Exhausted Ears
EE, this here's a dangerous question, but I ain't never avoided a tough question and I ain't gonna start now. But let's be fair, lotsa folks talk a bunch without sayin' much of anything: politicians, middle managers, fantasy football nerds. But EE, I know where yer comin' from. Dave Barry explains this sort of thing in his Complete Guide to Guys.
Now, I don't exactly remember what Dave Barry said, but it went sump'n like this example here. Let's say your woman goes to lunch with her girlfriend (we'll call her Maggie). She comes home and you say, "How was lunch?"
Your woman responds, "It was really good. We went to Pierre's. It's this little cafe...you know the Old Navy on Oak? The one where I bought that cute yellow sundress and the matching sandals? It's just a little past that. I had the chicken Caesar salad. I don't know what they put on the croutons in that salad, but they were amazing! My diet soda tasted a little weird. Like it was too sweet. Maggie ordered the southwestern salad. She let me try a little bit of it. It was good, but a little too spicy for me. Oh, and you'd love the rolls they bring to the table. They're dark and sweet."
Now at this point, EE, you've forgotten your question and you've mentally checked out, thinking about who's gonna win the big playoff game this weekend. But your woman isn't done by a longshot. When she's done, she's told you (not that you'll remember) what Maggie was wearing, right down to the color of the polish on Maggie's fingernails and toenails. And she will have given you enough information that you could write a biography about Maggie if ya wanted to.
Let's take a look at what happens if you go have a couple beers with your buddy (we'll call him Smitty).
Your woman asks you, "How is Smitty?"
You respond, "He's good."
At this point, you'll notice your woman has an expectant look on her face, like she's waiting for more details. But you've already said everything there is to say. That's how we guys work. Heck, we can have a whole conversation just by nodding at some guy. But your woman will ask, "Is he still wearing that cast on his foot from when he broke his toe playing basketball at the YMCA? Is his sister still dating that jerk lawyer? Is he still working at that cell phone place?" You of course will have none of that information because you just had beers with Smitty. Ya didn't interview him. But these are vital details to your woman.
Why are these details vital? On that count, I got no idea. But that's why women as you put it talk a lot without saying anything. They just ain't learned to economize like guys have.
Gotta question for Uncle Sal? Send it to askunclesal[at]gmail[dot]com.