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They say that 90 percent of communication is nonverbal. What they don’t mention is that this statistic is entirely gender-based. In truth, 90 percent of the things you say **to women** are things you never say at all. By comparison, as a man, if you want to communicate with me you better use your mouth and speak it with actual English words. I can’t understand Spanish, I can’t understand Klingon, and I can’t understand body language. And I shouldn’t have to, either. This is America, damn it.

My wife, on the other hand, can have an entire conversation/argument/debate/interrogation/heart-to-heart with me, without me ever verbally participating in the discussion. She can apparently enter into my brain — much like Professor Xavier from X-Men — and extract information without my consent and completely against my will. I’d always heard about this so-called “woman’s intuition,” but I didn’t realize until I got married that women are mutants with horrifying and intrusive psychic powers. Here’s a good example of the kind of “conversation” I have with my wife multiple times a day.

Alissa, walking in the door from running a few errands while I stayed home with the kids: “Hey, everything go OK while I was gone?”
Me: “Yeah, all good, how’d it go at the store?
Alissa: “Wait, what’s wrong?”
Me: “Nothing, I said it’s all good.”
Alissa: “Something happened while I was gone? Are the kids ok? Something happened with the kids, didn’t it? What happened?”
Me: “What? No, they’re fine. They’re sleeping. Everything is cool.”
Alissa: “It was Julia. Yeah, it was Julia. She… She had a blowout diaper, didn’t she?”
Me: “Uh, yeah. But I took care of it. So anyway…”
Alissa: “Matt! You changed her on the couch without a changing pad?!”
Me: [Silence]
Alissa: “And then she peed while you were changing her? And the pee got all over the cushions?”
Me: “Uh…”
Alissa: “And then you flipped the cushion over to try to hide it instead of cleaning it up?!”
Me: “I think I should have my lawyer present.”

If only I knew what sort of sorcery enables her to peer into my conscience. Maybe then I could figure out a way to break her spell. Until then, I’ll just walk around the house wearing a ski mask wrapped in tinfoil. It’s my only defense.

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