What's on our minds?

I know what you’re thinking. How can this fat bloke with a crap beard possibly be able to fathom what is going on in the mind of such a complex woman as I? I could, of course, prove you wrong. It doesn’t take much scratching beneath the surface to unearth the depth of your thinking process: the longing for a pair of Manola slingbacks, the perils of a Pina Colada cheesecake, the delights of dry-weave top sheet with wings. Maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong – but frankly, I don’t give a damn.

Not in the I’m-so-hard-I-don’t-care-what-people-think fashion and certainly not because I don’t value your opinion, but because – as a free thinking, confident and independent woman – you can think what you like.

So why aren’t men allowed to get lost in our thoughts without you turning Spaniard with your inquisitions? Cracking your whip and shrieking ‘ariba, ariba, andale, andale!’ while we’re hurriedly trying to think of a suitable response to your demand: ‘what are you thinking? Tell me now! Tell me now or I’ll kill you.’

‘Uh… I was thinking, you know, how much that thingy you’re wearing makes your tits look lovely.’

‘Liar!’

Trust us. You don’t want to know the truth. Go on. Take a guess. Football? Any man that sits around daydreaming about fit men playing with their balls has no friends. Sex? It’s undeniably in the back of our minds, but it’s at the back of yours too – we don’t sit around having vivid fantasies about bonking when we’re in public. It’s a private matter between us and the pullout lingerie section inside this month’s Bliss magazine. Beer? Don’t be silly – if the option of alcohol presented itself – we’d be in the pub drinking it. Fact is, unlike you, guys don’t sit around thinking about things that they want to do, or should be doing – precisely the reason we don’t make lists or come out with banal requests like: ‘Can you remind me to buy some eggs tomorrow? We’re going to need eggs tomorrow.’

So what does go on in the mind of a man? Before I reveal the truth, once and for all, let me ask you this: why do you want to know? Don’t answer that – I can’t hear you. Even if you’re convinced you have this weird ESP thing going on (if I had a penny for every woman who has dazzled me with her sixth sense, I’d be skint right now). My extensive research in getting into women’s minds – it’s all I can do, none of you let me go anywhere near your body – has given me some fascinatingly dull insights. You want us to share our thoughts because you can’t stand the uncomfortable silence, or you’re worried that vacant stare in our eyes may be the first signs of action myoclonus renal failure syndrome, or you’re fishing for us to give away some important information about ourselves in a moment of weakness – so you can use it as an emotional missile to nuke us with at a later, more vulnerable date.

But mostly, you’re begging us to tell you what’s going on inside our heads in the hope we’ll have something interesting to say, because there’s nothing of note going on in yours.

Or, more worryingly for us, there is something going on – and you want to reveal all, in blow by blow detail, all about how your so-called friend Anuja, right, she only goes and gets her nails manicured in the same salon you booked to get yours done, two weeks before you, how dare she, the evil harlot, together we must destroy her. Can’t you just accept we don’t want to know? Isn’t the fact that we don’t share our inane thoughts with you a clear signal that you don’t have to speak and we could just, for once, watch a programme or listen to a song without interruption?

So what’s on our minds?

It’s not what you think. And those of you who wish you were, or believe you are (wrongly I might add) mind-readers, let me assure you that one peek into the dark and sinister filth inside the average man’s mind will turn you instantly insane.
Because unlike you, we don’t think with words. Not in the way you do. Sure we tell our boss to shove it where the squirrels hide their nuts in the privacy of the toilet or give interviews to Rolling Stone magazine when we’re on the bus – but most of the time, we just feel and act upon it. Hungry? Must eat. Horny? Must look at woman with big jugs across the street. These aren’t detailed instructions. Unlike you lot, who analyse every tiny aspect of any given situation, thinking about what other people think or may be thinking, until you turn into total paranoid wrecks.

We don’t worry about things like that. We fantasise about things that aren’t real, you worry about things that are. But you don’t have to worry anymore – I will now, on behalf of all men, reveal exactly what is on our minds, constantly, from the moment we wake to the second we pass out. Ready?

We’re thinking about how much we love you.