Tag Archives: men and women

Quiet Men.

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I like quiet men.

But, there are three kinds.


The Shy Boy.

Men who began their lives hiding behind their mother’s skirts (those who wore them full and fluffy, below the knee), are keenly observant but hesitant to make any version of a bold statement. As men, their actions do the talking, and are manifest in a self-possessed confidence which is, at heart, un-self conscious. To them, a woman is a source of fascination, much like their mothers were from the first moment. These are men who possess either an innate or finely cultivated ability to recognize and appreciate every detail about a woman’s body and mind. They look, long to touch, and the restraint they express makes a woman feel secure in their company.

Were they to speak or act suddenly, their fear is that the woman will turn away. And, since they are almost content to simply admire from afar, they provide by their silence the space for a woman, in turn, to fully express.

The Snake.

Some boys learn early on that they possess attributes which are considered commodities. Should those in their sphere laud such traits, fuss over them, make public commendations regarding their value, they develop a certain, smug self-satisfaction. Whether these features be physical or mental or even social in nature, the men who bear them enter a scene assuming that others will recognize both their presence and the prize they offer. For this cause, with the exception of those with comic ability they rarely develop social skills which garner attention, even if they seek any; content to simply appear, they are confident that what they both want and need will come to them, and that without effort. When it does, they take what comes, giving little in return; when it doesn’t, they often opt to drink heavily or simply leave the room.

Such men, while known to most everyone because of their persistent presence, can put some women off, as their lack of effort to engage others in anything but the most perfunctory, even slick dialogue comes across as self interest.

The Spy.

This man is quiet because he holds secrets. His own actions, either past or present, dictate his social behavior, setting limits. His demeanor is usually gentle, pleasant, even warm, but he reveals little. When prodded, he changes the subject. Such a man may be hiding a life of profound trauma, embroiled in international espionage, or engaged in subterfuge; whichever the case, his boundaries are clear only to him, leaving those who maintain a distance to conclude that he is merely shallow or simple minded.

A man who deliberately withholds remains uncommitted to individuals and groups, occupying the loner’s role with ease. Women are intrigued by such men, often drawn to them but, because their intuition picks up all the red flags, are rarely emotionally at ease in their company.


I’m sorry. Were you speaking to me?





…….who are you?


Let’s guess.







© Ruth Ann Scanzillo    12/13/16      All rights those of the woman who wrote the piece, and whose name appears above this line. Thank you, children.



Sick Day.

In the dim, receding weeks prior to “retirement”, today would have qualified as a Sick Day. I knew it last night, even before bed; that feeling of total decompression which marks the depletion of all productive energy. The knowledge that nothing of any quality would emerge from me in the day to come.

Granted, I did have symptoms; my doc did call in a prescription; I did take the pill. But, I was already cooked.

Now, sitting here mid-day in scruffed pajamas, in the increasing silence of the seasoned single life, I find just enough impetus for yet another essay poised on the docket. This one, the result of musings on men, and their ever-present transparencies; this one, about the man who is no longer there.

Seems that, the more cock-sure the male, the more the female can clearly see his skin beneath all those flamboyant feathers. Women sin by saying too much, doing too much, moving too fast, and asking too many questions. Men commit only one transgression, however:  the sin of omission.

When a man tells a woman he wants no more contact with her, at all, what he’s really saying is: I have found another, more appealing choice. Why? Because everybody knows that a man would never turn down his cake unless he had another cake that he could both have and eat. When a man tells a woman with whom he’s enjoyed multiple daily communications for several weeks that he has nothing in common with her, what he’s really saying is: I no longer need anything from you, because I have replaced you with somebody else.

When a man forgets an anniversary, he is saying that he no longer wants to remember the day he made commitment. And, when a man describes all his former girlfriends and/or wives as mentally ill, what he’s really saying is that he drove them all to the abyss.

Women of my generation are far more tenacious than modern girls. We were taught to make it work – probably because, when it wasn’t, we were somehow to blame. We were taught that the lion’s share of our energy was to be spent cultivating in ourselves the kind of woman meant for the best kind of man. Then, once we had managed to snag the best man, any remaining energy was to go toward maintaining his happiness. If he wasn’t happy, he’d look around for something better – so, we’d better keep at it. Nobody told us that our needs should always come first. Nobody told us that there was no best man.

Maybe this is why men omit. Somehow, they always have something to hide. Maybe it’s a weakness for trusting scheming, self-serving younger girls. Maybe covering their tracks allows men to believe nobody will ever lift the veil that obscures them. Maybe they embarrass themselves on a daily basis, half the time unawares, and always realize it when it’s already too late.

It’s important for women of every honorable age to recognize that we ascribe to men traits that they do not possess. They are not the knights, the princes, or even the kings of all they survey; rather, they are fallible, mortal creatures, living in bodies capable of both great feat and encroaching decay. Just like us. Half the time, they have no idea what they want, either in a woman or in any arena of life. We owe them the respect of this recognition, and the willingness to dismiss our notions of their grandeur so that we can live without them. Because, even when they are right by our side, they are usually miles and miles away.


There. That’s my offering for a sick day in November. The sun reminds us that it will not forsake us, even in the dreary, impending doom of the first snow. Maybe I’ll sleep some more, maybe not; the quietly ticking ceramic wall clock will carry on. Best to engage the body, and gather enough energy to meet the moment alone. Being just sick enough to stop has served its better purpose today.



© Ruth Ann Scanzillo


all rights reserved. Thanks.