Tuesday, March 5, 2013

The Waffle/Spaghetti Divide

Too often I let me brain dip into quasi-philosophy where it has no business dipping. No reason other than the fact I'm so easily sidetracked by other things. Or I start meandering down some critical pathway only to get confused about where I was actually going with my Point.

In trying to order my thoughts and figure out what I actually, you know, think about things it often feels I'm swimming upriver, fighting a current or smacking up against a dam.

Some kind of wall.
I chalk it up to the Waffle/Spaghetti Divide. While I'm not one to hold up stereotypes, I will right here.

Think of a man’s mind like a waffle. Neat compartments. Now imagine each of those compartments to contain some problem or issue or thought or syrup. Man comes to a problem in one of those neat pockets, fixes it or addresses it somehow, then moves on. Here’s a problem; come up with a solution.

Think of a woman’s mind like a plate of spaghetti. A woman comes upon a problem – a spaghetti strand – and starts to address it only to find that the strand touches just about everything on the plate. You can’t start solving the first problem without solving or mentioning every other question, issue, or problem that original spaghetti strand touches.

Conflict is the follow-up to this horrible waffle/spaghetti meal.

While a man can pronounce an issue dealt with (therefore, forgotten almost immediately), a woman needs to swiggle all over the place touching on everything from the numbers of pets she had as child, the background of a woman she met last week, and how much she paid for a knickknack two years ago as she discusses with the man why she thinks so-and-so political party will be getting her vote during the upcoming election. But she can get to the point, no matter how circuitous. (Even if the principle thought banging around in the guy's head is, "When is she going to get to the point?")

I think these struggles with quasi-philosophy and trying to run down a point is just a little too close to spaghetti. My brain’s not used to working like that and when I try it not only frustrates me, it frustrates and erodes the patience of the person I'm speaking with.

There is some co-existence required of Waffles/Spaghetti Divide – having a demilitarized zone between each doesn't help anyone – so the next time your significant other tries to sum things up in a single sentence or rambles for 15 minutes before reaching a conclusion, just remember that your problems don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Love your waffles, love your spaghetti.

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