The 50% Stud

It’s no surprise to you, Reader, that people can’t help but thinking of me as a stud. I demonstrated this to you last October when I listed search engine entries by which folks around the globe were brought to this blog. One person (I’m guessing a smashingly beautiful woman) located my blog through the term “stud dude.” The World Wide Web couldn’t help but direct that gorgeous woman to my blog.

People, the WWW understands. Boolean logic and hyperlinks all point to the same conclusion: People think I’m a stud.

As do you. And as do my colleagues. Or at least some of them.

The other day I was in my office when my phone rang. I picked it up and was greeted, not surprisingly, with a “Hey, Stud” on the other end. At first I didn’t know who it was because frankly this is a perfectly common salutation directed my way all the time. Then I recognized who it was and, I must tell you, the man who greeted me in this manner is actually quite the stud himself. I won’t give you his name (no, it’s not Harvey) but he owns a smile as winning as Jon Bon Jovi’s. (As seen here.)



He’s a rebounding monster on the basketball court. Plus he wears nice shoes, though that’s nothing I’d dare to admit to noticing. (Or complimenting him on every time I see him). Because that would just be extremely weird. And also right now I’m becoming uncomfortable. In other words, if anyone should know who a stud is, it’d be him. (Well him and me, both.)

So yesterday I was talking to a friend, a female colleague, and somehow I let it slip how my studly male friend greeted me. This is the response she game me. I will try to be as faithful to the effectual truth as possible. She said:

"Wuhh?? S..S...Stud?? He said what? 'Hey, Stud?' Stud?! "

BWAA HAAA HAAAAAA

On and on she laughed. Big wet sloppy tear-soaked chortles. Breath-gasping peels of hysteria. And then she just turned red in the face.

Because she couldn’t breathe.

Silence.

Silence punctuated by the rhythm of tears plopping onto her desk.

And then a huge gasp for air.

What the hell? My male studly friend surely greeted me without irony! And the web is on my side, too. The computer evidence that I’m a stud is overwhelming!

Here’s more evidence.

A week or so ago, my wife and I went out to dinner with one of our favorite couples friends. The husband is very manly and, yes, quite studly (no, not Harvey), and the wife is lovely and just eminently likeable. Our conversation was far-ranging and warm and full of laughter, but at one point I sought out their opinions on a matter that had been bothering me for a bit. Years ago (yet another) colleague once told me that when it comes to our three daughters, it’s widely acknowledged that my wife, Juli, gets all the credit for their reputations as bright and well-behaved kids. But what about me, I wanted to know. What about my contributions to the parenting? I have parenting theories and thoughts and strategies coming out the wazoo! Don’t I get any credit?

“No. Not really. I mean, people don’t think you’re bad dad or anything. It’s just that you’re seen as kind of....a neutral influence.”

But…but…but…but…

So at dinner I asked our friends how they would allocate responsibility (either praise or blame) to Juli and I for our roles in shaping the characters of our children. The husband somehow sensed a verbal trap and hesitated, but the wife immediately responded with an answer of:

“90/10.”

Really? Wow. I was thrilled. I didn't expect 90%. I mean, I don't think I even deserve 90%. I was modest so I asked, "but surely you’d give Juli more than 10%, right?"

“Oh no, I mean 90% Juli, 10% you.”

Clink. My fork drops to my plate.

But…but…but…but…

But then she said, "but Mike, your daughters are beautiful. Just beautiful. And you’re their genetic father. I give you fifty percent of the credit for that.'

So take that, cruel female colleague of mine!

Now the wife’s words can be interpreted in one of two ways. One way, the reasonable way, is this. “Your children are beautiful, and how could they not be because you, my friend, are studly. Given your own undeniable studliness, it’s a given that they’d be lovely.” The other interpretation, the wrong-headed way, would go something like this: “For reasons that are unfathomable to all but her, Julianne allowed you to mingle your genetic code with hers, and, well, the product of that mingling turned out much better than any of us had hope to expect--given their father. Apparently you’ve got some terrific recessive traits lurking in there. Boy, your girls hit the jackpot three times. Lucky you. Lucky them.”

No, that’s silly.

I’m going with the reasonable interpretation. I’m going with Boolean logic.

Stud.