Micks Of The World

“It just...sucks man!” My buddy Mick iterated for the seventeenth time. I know it did; even after several mugs overturned and hit the table. The bartender caught my eye and took the cue. Today, I was the listener, the buyer of beer and shots, not the wing-man. Mostly because today Mick did not give a flying duck about women, and was, in fact, in the process of swearing them off forever.

Mick gave out a sigh that could be mistaken for a groan. But I knew that it really meant that it hurt like hell. And that he was lost and had nowhere to go. And that he didn’t know to what he would wake up the next morning. He wouldn’t say that yet, but it was my duty to understand.

It’s a guy thing.

“I loved her, man! You know that, right?”

That was the elixir in him speaking. And as the bartender placed two more mugs on the table, I knew it was time to brace up for the story I had heard a million times. And as I sat listening to Mick and ‘his’ girl’s tale, I wondered how impeccably wired womankind is. It’s a switch that they suddenly flick and the next moment they don’t love you anymore. And somehow they are still the tender sex. Their feline shapes pounce from one eligible to the next and in a moment their present becomes the past; just a flick of a switch. Once they’re gone and onto the next one, they just don’t friggin’ care about what they leave behind. Women are soft and cute and funny and bright, with bumps and curves in all the right places. They are smart, generous and sometimes giving. But they are not the tender sex. That’s a cruel myth, forever perpetuated, and willingly played, by most women on the men they chase.

“You know that, right? She was the one, man. It’s not fair!”

Mick was a good guy. Not the brightest bulb in the deck, and way too hairy to be called good looking, but a good guy. Right now he was staring at his phone, evidently yearning for a text from the woman. Just an explanation would suffice. Poor brittle thing. God knew the explanation would just make matters worse. You see, women have a don’t-look-back protocol built into them. Seen it every time. One minute she’s your lover, your buddy, your anchor, your life, and in the next, she’s gone with the wind, man. Just gone, as if you never were.

The stereotypes of men are ridiculous. While women may be the smarter sex - by far - we are not Neanderthals, perpetually on the prowl for sex and the next food item to kill. If you could see poor Mick at the moment, you’d know too. Or maybe you won’t, considering Mick was actually grunting like a Neanderthal. That’s what the ‘Mick’s of the world do. They grunt. That’s what separates the ‘Mick’s and the women.

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I hadn’t heard from Mick for a couple of weeks. In my defense, I was a bit preoccupied myself. I was moving. Rather, I was being kicked out on flimsy reasoning. I did not mind because I was beginning to despise the neighbourhood. So good riddance, anyway.

Yesterday, Mick popped up at my door. I recognised the expensive vrooming sound. I could not help but notice that it was the sound of Mick of the better days.

“Dude! You won’t believe what happened!” He was beaming. “You remember that chick in the…” Well, that was Mick of the better days. The excited rant went on for a couple of minutes.

“That’s awesome! Let’s booze up to that.”

“Come on. Hop in. Drinks on me tonight.”

It was still early hours at the bar. The soft music was discernible over the din of the early birds. My buddy Mick couldn’t wait to tell me everything.

“She’s so hot. I mean, completely out of my league.” Said Mick with animated gestures. “But your brother here never shuns the toil to reach the unscalable! You should’ve seen my game bro. Masterclass is all I’m saying.” He raised his hands in feigned defense.

“You know I’ve never been in love before. This is it, man.” His eyes narrowed as he was looking at a distance like those wise men, as he sighed, basking in his glory.

I blurted out, breaking his gaze: “What happened to Mimi?”

“Who?” A quizzical expression cemented on his face. “Oh! You mean that bitch. Never mind that. We never had the spark, you know. It was just a phase.”

“What was I saying...Oh yeah! You know last night…”

And it was that; with a flick of a switch the past became the past. The bartender placed two mugs on the table.

What can I say, it’s a guy thing.