Of Mice.

I truly love the dynamic between men.

And, wrestle with envy of it.

Men enter any arena entitled to a modicum of power that women must either earn, or seize.

Now, it’s not that women covet power; rather, we perceive a relative need for it, sort of a balancing act that normalizes, that sets equilibrium.

If the relationship is woman to man, that balance already exists – provided sufficient hormonal energy is at the fore.

Enter woman to woman. Now, the issue would be moot were there no men in the room. But, in our culture, no matter how women dress it……there always is. A man. In the room.

Sometimes he is present in the flesh – in the form of a supervisor, or a lead, or a stud. Or, all of the above. At other times, he is physically absent…his “presence” merely, if powerfully, imposed. In either case, his force is ever at play; any and all actions dance around him, in perpetuity.

But, enter the trio: man, plus woman plus……woman. The man is emboldened. In his mind, the die is already cast; he will prevail. Little does he know, however, to what end, to what pain, the women will extend themselves to determine their own rank.

Some women become strategists, others tacticians. Still others keep the log book, ever-vigilant, reporting to their perceived “superior”. Those who will play the relative lead are called alphas. The alpha mobilize, flanking their armies. These travel in packs of three to seven, and call each other “friends.”

The alphas’ agenda is to assert over as many women as possible in an attempt to be as close to the male agenda as they can get. Their motives are varied, and depend on the role the male in question currently plays. Perhaps he is a stud; they seek his favor. Perhaps he is the CEO; they seek his position, or the position he can offer them. Perhaps he is both; the challenge is all the more delicious. To the alpha female. And, beware.

In the 1950s, marrying a man of power sealed the deal. Such a wife could work her magic from the secondary throne. From the 60s to the present, however, the scenario became increasingly complex.

And, this called for an ever-improving degree of skill.

To be any woman in the current climate is to first determine one’s potential goal. What is sought? What is attainable? The constants being truth and vitality, any woman might choose a variety of paths, one to her own ascension and another to total destruction. The point is: men walk on other dirt.

Some men might see through all this, and entertain themselves, amused; others might be totally unaware and, thus, highly susceptible to any and all acts of women. But, even if they are temporarily vulnerable to the scheme of the moment, they still travel their own road. At the end of the day, it’s the men who lock up, taking the keys with them.

To them, any and all actions are direct. To each other, they say what they mean and mean what they say. They seek; they find, and they acquire. They select their pleasures. They make their moves. They stand, and they sit, with the cycles of the sun.

What a simple scene.

And, it never occurs to them what a maelstrom of activity teems just beneath them, waiting with baited, calculated, ever-active, aromatic breath for their ultimate audience.

Perhaps, in the next life, I will be born a man. If this happens, may the memory of living as a woman inform my character. I want to be found, among all men everywhere, completely grateful for my crown.


© R.A.Scanzillo.
all rights reserved. Thanks.

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