Defending My Man Thesis

Shouldn’t I feel like a man by this point?  Shouldn’t I feel like I know what the hell I’m doing?  I feel like I’m constantly presenting my masters thesis on my manliness and it’s just getting shut down.  The review panel is just a US soldier, my dad, and a guy who works at Jiffy Lube.

Me: Well I’m married, does that make me a man?

Soldier: No.

Me: I have a job and provide for my family.  Does that make me a man?

Dad: Nah…

Me: Ooh!  I got her pregnant.  That’s got to make me a man.

Guy Who Works at Jiffy Lube: Please…

Me: Well damn…I…uh…I patched some drywall last week.

The Panel covers their respective microphones and has a sidebar conversation.  

Soldier: How big was the piece of drywall?

Me: About one foot by 6 inches.

Dad: How did the hole get there?

Me: I…uh…punched a wall when Roethlisberger threw an interception.

Another sidebar conversation.

Guy Who Works at Jiffy Lube: Thank you.  We’ll be in touch.

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