Testosterone Talk

I just spent my evening with my all male IT group in one of the prescribed two-story family houses they build inside Filipino-imitations of American suburbia. Occasion: House Blessing, my boss'es home sweet home. Since I’m the only girl (again) in the group, the boss indulged me by buying me a 1.5 liter bottle of red wine. That’s the problem of not being married. I don’t have any sick-husband or nursing-child to use as an excuse not to go.

Not that I mind the company of my male colleagues. Sometimes the conversations are quite enlightening. For instance, my male boss explained that the way to make baby boys would be a deeper thrust, while baby girls would require a slightly outer tickle. It has something to do with the life expectancy and mileage of the male sperm. You learn something new everyday.

And did you know that you shouldn’t feed your young boys with chicken? Chicken, especially 45-day old grown hatchlings have been injected by estrogen so they could grow faster. So it goes without saying that feeding boys with estrogen-filled chicken would make baby boy gay.

They were kidding, of course. But the theories of my 2 older married bosses about baby making as well as the comparisons of my 2 younger single colleagues about past and present girlfriends - were unbelievably unbiased and clinical. These guys respect their women. And it was not all locker room humor and stories. It was an uncensored peek into how these men deal with the responsibility of taking care of their ‘girl’.

I couldn’t hide from inquiries about my ex, but I took it all in stride. It was old news and I no longer cared about it. They all tried to be helpful by giving me hints on how to bag myself a new man and get over the old one. Most of their advices were hilarious and outrageous, some of them I wouldn’t even think of trying. There was this strong testosterone assumption that I wouldn’t be complete without a man. I was outnumbered so I didn’t waste my energy arguing. But in the end, I still had no clue as to what makes a man tick other than their love for boobs and sex.

I did wish my one and only female officemate was there. But she, being married with one child, must put family first before getting drunk with too much red wine.

I got home safe, unfazed with all the testosterone talk; and with me, the empty wine bottle. I didn’t drink one drop of it. I enjoyed a nice ice cold Mellow-Yellow the whole time. My male colleagues finished off Carlo Rossi to it’s last drop. Because part of pleasing their ‘girl’, was going home without the smell of beer on their breaths.

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