Men complimenting men

I’m writing this in the middle of my Tuesday morning women’s study group. Yes, the goatee and moustache are genuine, but the women let me join their group because I have a couple of hours open at this time of the week.

I can do this –- write in the middle of the group discussion – because the women won’t get mad at me. It’s the whole multi-tasking thing women are about, epitomising the differences in socialisation between women and men.

My study group members have no qualms about knitting or drawing or reading or sorting through a wad of personal papers or texting or having impromptu meetings on the sidelines around the coffee table, totally unrelated to the actual plenary discussion.

Men would be hugely offended that I am sitting here, apparently not totally present, definitely distracted, disrespecting them. My lack of meeting etiquette would not be tolerated.

Women regard being distracted – but not confused – among the 1001 thoughts occupying their life as a necessary part of being human. Men, as we know, can only think of one thing at a time.

Actually, they pretty much think of one thing all the time, but that’s something to explore another day.

I’m sitting in this study group contemplating the really important things about life on our planet across the gender divide because some guy has just paid me a compliment. It was between the third and fourth floors of the building, during my ritual of walking up the stairs to kickstart my heart. Well, crawling really, if truth be told.

This guy – an associate of an associate – comes bounding down the stairs and makes some inane comment, the kind of meaningless pleasantry that is another borderline example of what men don’t do, what separates us from women. And all I can grunt is “Yeah”, having in reality no clue what he just said and being preoccupied with gasping for that extra cubic centimetre of life-giving air.

A few more torturous steps up, I hear him shout out something, and I drag myself back and say “Sorry what?” And he says, “You’ve lost a bit of weight, well done”. And again, all I can muster is “Yeah”, and then an unsure, “Thanks”.

As I continue lugging my heavy backside up the stairs, I’m wondering: what do guys say when another guy pays them a compliment? Because men just don’t do that – pay each other compliments, I mean.

We may, in our adult youth, reflecting (not really, because men don’t reflect, but you know what I mean) on the outcome of a game, say to a team mate who brought down an opposing player with a great tackle, “Jislaaik, boet, you nailed that oke so that he didn’t know who his mother is”. And we’ll all know that a compliment has been passed.

Later on, when you’re in the park with your little guy, one of the other fathers may notice your guy has quite a good southpaw throw on him and may ask: “Did you teach him that?” And you’ll know that, in an oblique kind of way, some guy’s just said a really great thing about your parenting or coaching skills.

As you grow into your maturity, it’s not the done thing anymore for men to be dishing the compliments to each other.

If a woman pays us a compliment, we say a quiet, bashful word of thanks and inside let out a huge “Yeah baby!” Because men really live for women to notice them and say something like “I especially noticed your amazing pecs and abs, and the Richard Gere thing you’ve got going on the side of your temples” or whatever.

Men love that. If any guy tells you differently, he’s lying. Of course, few men realise that when a women does this, it’s how they relate to the world, male or female, and certainly is not the ultimate “come hither” invitation.

But, men complimenting men? We just don’t do that. It’s up there with saying “I love you” to your best male mates, or being ever-so-slightly self- deprecating (we like to deprecate the heck out of that other slob across the room but self-deprecation is not our thing), or feeling each other’s muscles (we learn the hard way how muscled a guy is).

So, how would we know how to respond appropriately to a word of affirmation from one of our own?

Consider this scene from The West Wing, where the American president’s top military aides are proposing the assassination of a terror suspect. A highly decorated admiral asks a general: “Have you changed your shampoo – because your hair looks more bouncy and manageable?”

Script writer Aaron Sorkin has no pithy comeback. He understands the state of total perplexity such moments create for all men. There’s just a lightning quick change to the next scene.