I could swear I've written this, but there it is in my idea queue. Onward.
Women have seldom told me that I'm handsome or smart or charming or brave or kind. I refuse to conclude anything from this. The compliments I have received? Just plain weird. I suspect most of 'em stem not from my intrinsic magnificence but from their scars at another man's hands. "I really like the way you don't bring junk mail into the house," said one girlfriend. "I hate the clutter."
"Thank you for not using my knives for household tasks," said another, seemingly on the verge of grateful tears.
"I love the way you don't leer at other women when I'm around," said a third.
"Your good hygiene is really attractive," said yet another of my habit of brushing my teeth twice a day and bathing, well, most days. "It's exceptional."
Really?
If I were born a woman, I'd simply have to be gay.