I was blog-jogging and came across a writer who said that he was looking forward to visiting some friends for a guy weekend.

There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, if all of the guys have the same kinds of interests.

At churches I have attended, there have been mentions of retreats for men that promise similar “guy weekends.”  Among the promised attractions were fishing, golfing, football, and camping.

I don’t fish, I don’t golf, I don’t play football and roughing it isn’t that appealing unless I’m spending time with people who have a lot in common with me, which means people who don’t fish, golf or play football.

I also don’t hunt, I don’t care for cigars, and I couldn’t care less about car engines and big monster trucks.

Several years ago, I met a friend from high school for lunch.  He wanted to eat at Hooter’s.  I had never been, and had never particularly wanted to go.  But I went.  His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he grinned from ear to ear as the waitress — and I’ll admit she was hot — flirted with him and nearly sat in his lap.  Watching this spectacle, I thought to myself how sleazy the whole thing felt, because I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if I had run into this same waitress out on the town at some club, she’d have never given me the time of day.

I’ve been to a strip club once. This, also, was not my idea.  And this little experience also left me feeling a little dirty.  Not because the view wasn’t impressive, but because it felt very exploitative.

Some say men are supposed to be action heroes, and they’re wired to fight the epic battles to rescue the damsels in distress.  Some say men cannot afford to have a softer, emotional side. Some say men are supposed to be rough and tough and never show vulnerability.

That, to me, sounds somewhat inhuman.

Is there something wrong with me?