Defending The Cavewoman

Okay, so it’s Defending the Caveman.

Man, as in Rob Becker, who wrote the play. Man as in Paul Perroni, who performs it on — or pretty close to — Broadway.

But I am the woman whose life it changed the first time I saw it, more than 10 years ago.

Here’s the thing: you know how men leave their laundry on the floor? And how pissed you get about that? Especially when they leave it next to or on top of the hamper. Sigh. So close. (Can’t they go the extra inch?) And yet so far. (No, apparently they can’t.)

Well, don’t get your knickers in a knot, ladies, because those are not just Jockey Shorts lying there. That’s The Circle of Sacred Underwear.

From the dawn of time, man has felt this burning need to establish his territory. Modern man is no different, but doesn’t have rocks and sticks handy, so he uses underwear. Once you, as a woman, understand this, you will be truly liberated. You will never pick up dirty shorts again. You will step over The Circle. Carefully. Just in case.

This is great for your relationship and . . .

It leaves you time to do more important things: like cleaning the bathroom.

What? You thought I was going to say, “doing your nails” or “sitting around eating bon bons,” didn’t you? Well, I was, actually, but I needed a lead-in to the next thought, which is:

Cleaning, according to The Caveman, is more important to women than to men. Well, duh. Not because we like it, or because we’re genetically more suited to it, but because if we don’t do it, it doesn’t get done. And then, when there are visitors (There Will Be Visitors), no one says, “Lou (or Joe or Any Guy) is a lousy housekeeper!” Oh no. The woman will take the rap for a messy cave. Every time. I can see Wilma Flintstone nodding her head right now.

Rob Becker’s right-on-the-money script also points out the different ways men and women greet each other. Two women who haven’t met for a while will squeal and laugh and hug and shout each other’s names: “SUE-zenn!” “Lu -EEZ!” die-ANN-uh!!! Men say, “You still driving that piece of shit, dickhead?” Which means, I’m glad to see you and I love you, man.

See? Women are more direct. And we’re supposed to be the devious ones.

Anyway, after we’ve squealed and hugged everyone silly, the next thing we do is tell each other how cute (or thin) we’re looking. What’s wrong with that? Men should follow our lead. Hey, a little flattery will get you everywhere. And as The Caveman points out, if you don’t say something nice about a woman’s appearance — right off the bat, in the first few seconds, I mean immediately! — you are screwed. Or not.

I’ve left out Rob Becker’s main point: that men are built to hunt and women to gather. Our basic equipment shows this: The spear? The basket? Do I have to be more explicit? I think not. The best modern-day example is the different ways men and women shop.

A man waits until his shirt dies, then goes hunting for a new one. He is totally focused: Me want shirt. Me get shirt. Me got shirt. Me happy.

A woman goes shopping whenever she can, looking at and touching everything, gathering what she thinks is cute and/or will be useful at some later date, not what she needs at that minute. (Hey guys, it’s called planning, or as we like to call it around here, the P Word.) She’s happy, too, but is ready to go gathering (shopping) again the next time she has a free minute or there’s a sale at Saks. (So expensive, that Saks, but great sales.) The guy will wait until something dies.

So now that we’ve got that settled, I’m going to step right over The Circle of Sacred Underwear and take a bubble bath. Wonder what cavewomen did to pamper themselves back when. They must have been resourceful, what with no bubbles, not to mention baths. Maybe they wrapped themselves in animal skins . . . and dreamed up the concept of shopping.
Don’t even ask me what the men did.

Defending the Caveman by Rob Becker is  playing in New York City, Detroit MI, Tacoma WA, Macon GA, and Naples FL.
For more info, go to: www.defendingthecaveman.com where you can “hunt for tickets.”
Or gather them, I suppose.