Some bright spark, obviously many years ago, and obviously a man, described the female of the species as “the weaker sex.” No doubt this was brought about by the woman being left behind in the cave to fix dinner, make pottery, bear children and create the odd bit of cave art, while the man would go off tromping through the forest to bring home a nice mastodon for supper.

Well I have evidence close at hand to contradict this.

Take Case A. A friend of mine having received birth control pills at a very reasonable price for years and years, was forced to change doctors, the new one not being nearly as liberal with the handing out of samples. She discovered, much to her horror, that her monthly supply was going to set her back $75 a pop, and so she had a little chat with her hubby.

She suggested, I don’t think unrealistically or uncaringly, having given birth twice, that he might like to go and investigate a bit of a snip to save them $900 a year. Well, you may as well have asked him to chew off his left leg. He has subsequently taken an absolute swan dive and has become quite mute on the subject.

And then take Case B. Another friend of mine was relating the story of her bringing up this obviously very touchy subject. Being 8 months pregnant with their second child, she and Hubby B were tootling along in the car, and she casually brought up the subject that she was not going through this (expletive deleted) process a-(expletive deleted)gain, and suggested quite certainly that it was time for him to take some responsibility and have the snip done before she was out of the hospital. In retrospect, I suppose Hubby A showed remarkable manliness, as Hubby B actually had to pull the car off the road, and have a bit of a gentle lie down in the back of the car to recover from this wayward suggestion.

I even remember my ex-husband when faced with the prospect of taking the damned cat to the vet to be neutered went into male defense mode (you know the one – a look of horror on the face, the legs slightly crossed, and hands cupped defensively) and staunchly refused to subject C-fer (c-fer cat, you see) to such an indignity. This lasted up until the time C-fer sprayed in his soccer bag. I can’t tell you how quickly the cat was up at the vet and under anesthetic.

So I suppose I do have to admire my own darling Sir. Not that he has faced this question ever – as I know exactly what his response would’ve been.

But at least he had the machismo and sense of humor, while totally whacked with pre-med pixie dust pending his open heart surgery, to be heard while being wheeled into the O.R., belting out in his best Ethel Merman voice:

“There’s no business like show business!”

Take that, Hubbies A and B!

Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at anniedearkc