Why Do Men And Women Think Differently In 'Men Are Like Waffles--Women Are Like Spaghetti'?

In his eyes, she was utterly clueless and shameless. In her eyes, he was cunning, sinister, and equally shameless. They could not stand each other, but they had been secretly arranged to be married by their families.After marriage, he cautioned her, "My house, my rules.And don’t fall in love with me."She replied, "I’d rather die than do that, pal."Days flew by and he realized: his new wife wasn't kidding – she wasn't into him! She was busy sipping cocktails, hitting bars, and throwing punches for justice. With a line of admirers around the block, his crush on her only grew bigger. One day, he just couldn’t hold himself back, "Hey, Would you like to go on a date with me?”

At our company dinner, my girlfriend, Katherine Hale, makes a detour to get some treats. She hands a glass of juice to my childhood friend, Mark Langley, who is sitting opposite us. Then, she sets down a cup of yogurt in front of me. Mark thanks her with a smile. "How thoughtful of you! You remembered I can't have iced drinks because of my gastric issues." I stare at the cup of yogurt with mango bits in it. Then, I nudge it further away from me, my expression blank. "What's the matter?" Katherine asks casually. I respond, "I'm allergic to mangoes. Did you forget that again?" She freezes for a moment. Then, she smiles and shrugs. "Come on, it's no big deal. Just pick out the mango bits." But she never forgets that Mark doesn't want any cilantro or onion in his food. Also, he only accepts chilled juice without any ice or sugar. Meanwhile, I have difficulty breathing if I take even a single bite of mango, but she thinks it's fine as long as I pick them out. Turns out, if one is biased enough, they can overlook even matters of life and death. On our way home, I sit in the back seat as usual. I look at the two people in the front, who seem perfect for each other. All of a sudden, I feel relief washing over me. Katherine can't even remember my allergies, so what am I holding onto this relationship for?

I exercised too hard during the day and, by midnight, a sharp pain tore through my stomach. When I checked my pants, there was blood. I called my friend immediately and had him rush me to the hospital. The moment I finished explaining my symptoms, the doctor did not even pause to think before saying, "This is a potential miscarriage. We need to start treatment right away." My eyes went wide. I opened my mouth to protest, but she steamrolled right over me. Her gaze dripped with contempt. "I see dozens of patients every day. I know exactly what you women are like. Probably had abortion after abortion in school with zero self-respect. Now that you're getting older, you want to trap some nice guy into cleaning up your mess." I had never met such an unprofessional doctor in my life. Anger flared in my chest, and I threatened to report her on the spot. She barely blinked. "Touched a nerve, huh? I'm just trying to help you out here. Doctors have it so hard these days. Tell someone the truth and complaints are all you get." The whispers started around me. People staring, judging, pointing. I had truly had enough. Had it occurred to literally anyone that I might just be a guy with long hair?

When I was seven years old, a handsome man Mom brought home gave me a box of mangoes. That day, Dad watched me happily eating the mangoes as he signed his name on the divorce agreement. Then, he jumped to his death. From that day on, mangoes became a lifelong nightmare for me. So, on our wedding day, I told my wife, Irene Johnson, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." She held me without saying a word. From that moment on, mangoes became forbidden for her as well. … On the fifth Christmas Eve after we got married, Irene's childhood sweetheart, Steven Carter, placed a mango on her desk. That same day, she announced that she was cutting ties with him and fired him from the company. That day, I felt that she was the woman destined for me. ... Six months later, I return from overseas after closing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration dinner, Irene hands me a drink. After I drink half of it, Steven, the man who was kicked out of the company, stands behind me and grins. "Is the mango juice good?" he asks. I look at Irene in disbelief, but she is holding back a laugh. "Don't be mad. Steve insisted I play a joke on you. I didn't give you a mango, just a bottle of its juice. "But I think Steve is right. There's something wrong with you for not eating mangoes. Look at how much you enjoyed it just now!" she says. I keep a cold expression, raise my hand, and splash the remaining mango juice onto her face. Then, I turn and walk away. Some things are never a joke. Mangoes aren't, and neither is my decision to divorce.

My CEO husband had always been known to be professional, but he somehow handed over three years of my hard work to his childhood friend, Millie Quess. My eyes were red as I demanded, "I fought for this for over three years. How could you simply appoint her as the marketing manager before me?" Steve held my gaze and sighed. "I will make it up to you. But Millie has yet to establish herself in the company. She needs this more than you do. Also, call me Mr. Lahm—at the office, I'm your boss, not your husband." A stalemate ensued, only for Millie to mess up a ledger. She ran crying to Steve, who, despite his professionalism, ignored the millions of dollars lost and tenderly comforted her. Utterly disappointed, I took the wedding ring off my finger and dropped it on his desk. "That's enough. I'm resigning, effective immediately… As for you, we're getting a divorce." He had no idea that my father was the most powerful mafia Don of Sicily, or that his successes were the result of my business acumen and pulling strings behind the scenes. Once I was gone, all he had now would be reduced to nothing.

After coming home from work, I see my favorite dishes laid out all over the table. The liquor is warmed up, and its aroma is the type that I like. But I don't feel the slightest bit grateful toward my thoughtful and gentle wife. My gaze passes through her and lands on the wall behind her. There hangs a memorial portrait of her…