It’s early April, a typical Seattle rainy afternoon. I’m staring out my home office window, nursing a Negra Modelo, and for no apparent reason my mind drifts to differences between men and women.
I’m a man. I know men. I’ve played with them, worked with them, competed against them, fought with and against them, hired and fired them, loved some (in a brotherly way) and hated others.
As to women, where do I begin? Women raised me: a mother and five sisters. I didn’t marry until I was forty. I’ve long since lost count as to how many women I’ve “played” with, worked with, competed against, fought with and against, hired and fired, loved and hated. The truth regarding the matter is that I’ve spent more time and have known more women than men. Candidly, I know women better than most men. Women, I’ve concluded, are like wine. The more complex, the more intriguing they are.