It’s true we’re not all the same. I was reading this email from an old friend (okay, not that old and more than a friend) about men.

The story went more or less like this:

“ENCHANTED TOADS FOR SALE THAT TURN INTO PRINCES”

Not every prince was once a toad, nor does every toad become a prince. But the little thing made me laugh, so I kept reading:

That was what the sign above the glass aquarium said, full of tiny toads, in a shop. The idea struck me as kind of blown-out, and curiosity made me ask the woman behind the counter to explain. And she answered me this line:

“THEY TURN INTO PRINCES, YOU JUST HAVE TO FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS”

-And with that, she handed me a cheap little booklet with the instructions
I didn’t believe her — not a damn bit of it for sure, but the seller grabbed one at random and gave it to me, assuring me: “THEY’RE ALL THE SAME”
-“Follow the instructions to the letter and by this time tomorrow you’ll have your prince!”

Why should we good, responsible, friendly and innocent men have to carry the blame for some fools?”

“Come on!” I told myself, guessing where this was headed. “What do you mean ‘they’re all the same’?” What’s going on here? I can accept that (some) men are princes; calling us toads… well, taste is taste, but to say we’re all the same — I PROTEST!

I mean, seriously, that’s unfair lazy stereotyping, it gets under my skin. Why should we good, responsible, friendly and innocent men have to carry the blame for some fools? Do we all appear in Laura en América? Please!

Resulta que el sapo se hace príncipe, como si fuera muy fácil sin pisar un gym o seguir dietitas metrosexuales.

Of course that damn toad — in every sense of the word — starts swapping her for another woman (as if there’s a contract saying living with a woman means she stops caring about her looks).

The woman, utterly fucking pissed, looks for a fix in the book. Yeah, how easy they think it is to get a prince — even a toad-prince — off their backs. Turns out telling him the “truth” turned him back into a toad again. How simple, comfy and convenient they see it, honestly.

Part of the tale said — roughly — that the silly heroine took the toad home and devoted herself to him every day. Every half hour she’d fill him with words of love and praise. As if we men weren’t around to hear sweet things. And she tells this to a toad!

Turns out the toad becomes a prince, as if it were easy without hitting the gym or following metrosexual diet plans. He starts living off her — of course! being a prince costs. She ends up subdued by the man/prince/toad, to the point of neglecting herself.

On top of that, when she gives him back to the seller, the woman smiles like she’s an expert on princes, toads, and men. I’m sure plenty have passed through her bed — and not exactly princes! But she blurts out: “they’re all the same.” And as a kicker she says this:

“It’s just a matter of spoiling them so they think they’re the eighth wonder and do whatever they want to you. So watch out, there are plenty of them; don’t treat a man like a prince… because he’s nothing more than a simple, freaking toad.”.

I mean—why? We’re not all the same; there are handsome, loyal ones among us. Don’t you think so?

Meet you at the next entry.