Anybody who's read this page for 10 minutes probably suspects that I vastly prefer the company of women. And I don't mean that as a euphemism for anything, either. This preference has as least as much to do with men as it does with women. I do not see the point of socializing with most men. I hate golf, I spend as little time as possible maintaining my yard, I think cars are an absurd way to spend money, and I've no interest in comparing penis size. Read into that what you will.
Meanwhile, a single mother raised me. When she died, a succession of beleaguered girlfriends and female friends, mentors, and bosses took over, chipping away at my rough edges until I vaguely approximated a human. They shaped me. You can certainly bet that anything redeeming about me, I learned from a woman. When I survey my life, I often feel grateful, even indebted, to other people. Yet I feel indebted to no man. Not one.
Men are the valets of my life. They're there. I see them. I even opt to interact with them from time to time. But their sole purpose is so optional, so redundant, they are utterly superfluous.
Tangent: Why do valets need to adjust my seat in order to drive my car 40 goddamned feet? And why, when I have a freakishly short 29" inseam, do they need to move the seat forward? The prevailing theory is "just to be assholes."