I am a sought after commodity.  I am a male in the 18 to 34 age group category.  That’s whom the networks want watching their TV shows and who websites wants as targeted traffic.  Obviously, as a man, I am more important than a woman.  Far, far more important.  Men are the ones who bring home the money, build the fences, fix the cars, do the taxes, and paint the walls.  Women are the ones who cook dinner, make the pasta, clean the dishes, wash the floor, do the laundry, operate heavy machinery, cut the grass, move the furniture, hammer nails, and all that other housekeeping and unmanly stuff.  The last thing I want to hear from my wife when she’s tarring the driveway is that she’d broken a nail.  I mean come on!  I can’t just park my car on the street!  What if I have to parallel park?  After a long day at my job of testing out video games, I can hardly see straight.  I need some food after a tiring day and I expect it on my dinner right when I get home.  And, no, no real man eats out.  Not at all.  Not when he has a good woman to make him a sandwich.