It’s getting to be that time again, time for me to get out of here. QUICK, before there is a premeditated bludgeoning! Men define themselves through two arenas, sex and work. Sex is the primary source of identity for them so they’ll drop their drawers at the drop of a dime. Unless of course the penis has met with MISHAP. Sex isn’t a problem really. It doesn’t require an unlimited time commitment, or any listening skills at all, and the poor dears derive such a feeling of accomplishment from it. The problem then, is work.
The man, who is an employee, will occasionally deliver a lengthy monologue describing an exceptionally vexing situation in the workplace but those episodes are short-lived and are likely deserving of some empathetic attention. On the other hand- the man, who is self-employed or worse yet has employees, may become inordinately fascinated by work. He may lose all of his identity to it EXCEPT that one previously mentioned area governed by the front facing southern appendage. It is a colossal predicament.
A perfectly good man can be completely destroyed by the delusion that anyone else IN THE UNIVERSE is even remotely interested in work to the manic-obsessive degree that he is. He may become an insaniac, compulsively discussing every possible scenario and quite a few impossible ones, repeating himself until he sounds like Fran Drescher and his wife pulls her own ears off to STOP THE VOICE.
I’ve read a lot about this; juries never convict.