My shaving cream comes out in a pink gel. It contains things like essential oils, vitamin E, tea tree oils, chamomile, cucumber and melon extracts, allontin, aloe vera, and eucalyptus. It costs $7 a can.
Jason's shaving cream comes out as straight shaving cream, and it contains, well, shaving cream. It costs $2 a can and appears to do the exact same thing.
Shaving cream is one of 4 necessary toiletries for a man, along with razor, toothbrush, and a bar of soap. Women can have hundreds or thousands of toiletries, and actually use them all.
When I notice the hamper is nearing its capacity, I sort the clothes, pre-treat any stains, divide them into proper wash cycles, set the dial to the appropriate setting and temperature, stick around to throw in fabric softener during the rinse, hang up sweaters, hand wash delicates, and iron the wrinkles out of anything that needs it.
When Jason wants laundry done, he yells "Wife! I have no clean underwear!' and then magically, some appear in his drawer, clean and folded. Jason is blissfully unaware that we even have a laundry room.
In a bar, men will order beer. They drink it straight from the bottle.
Women will order a pretty drink that comes in a tall, pretty glass rimmed in sugar. The drink will be frosty and pink, sweet to the taste but loaded with hard liquor. It will come decorated with umbrellas and orange slices and a cherry pierced by a tiny little sword. The woman will slip the cherry off its sword to eat it.
The men will pick up the discarded swords and play stupid pirate games for the rest of the night. They'll also pick at your whipped cream topping and ask for sips of yours, and though they may drink them in the privacy of their homes, no self-respecting straight man will ever order one of these:
Jason thinks "Hah, he's funny. Stop looking at me, swan."
Jamie thinks "Mmm, I want to have his babies."
Men have 2 kinds of socks: black, and white, and they seem to wear them indiscriminately. Men often do not bother to match their socks with their clothes, or even with each other. No matter how big the holes get, men will insist that they are "fine".
Women own more pairs of socks than they can ever wear. They have pink socks, knee socks, slipper socks, socks with pompoms, ankle socks, socks with clouds, socks with teddy bears, theme socks for holidays, socks for working out, socks for dressing up, socks that are cute but not warm, socks that are warm but will never be worn, striped socks, flowered socks, toe socks, novelty socks, socks with ruffles. Women have sock drawers fill with balled up or folded socks. Sock selection is an important part of every morning (unless it's sandal season).
When a woman sheds her clothes in a movie, a woman watching it will roll her eyes, huff a little, and cross her arms. "No one looks like that in real life, you know" she'll say.
"Huh?" her husband will respond, "I didn't hear that, I was too busy staring at her koochie." Women think about how unnecessary it is, or how degrading it must have been, or that she can spot some cellulite on her thighs - hah! Men think about tits.
Movies only have female nudity. Richard Gere occasionally appears nude, which is why all men hate Richard Gere.
Women spend a lot of time finding just the right 'window treatments' for their home. Things to be considered include size, colour, sheerness or opaqueness, amount of use, durability, ease of cleaning, pattern, and how well they match with surrounding paint colour and accessories. A woman knows that curtains will make or break the room.
Men have no opinion on curtains. When asked, they are unable to ascertain whether their home even has any curtains, and are baffled that anyone would care.
Women park their cars in garages, often the lawn mower as well. Women go to the garage to retrieve the car, or to dispose of garbage.
Men like to turn garages into man rooms. They hang license plates on the walls, keep a beer fridge and a small TV, and several milk crates for sitting around and scratching their balls. Men line the walls with tools they'll never use. They build one lop-sided bench and go sit on it when the wife starts talking about curtains.