Men and women have markedly different ways of looking at things.
For instance, Mr. and Mrs. Snark have a dream. It involves the entire Snark household being thrown into chaos so that the ragged, dirty downstairs carpeting can be replaced with new flooring.
Mrs. Snark is practical. She wants something new that's easy to keep clean.
Mr. Snark's goals are loftier. Mr. Snark entered matrimony with expensive high-end furniture. He fantasizes about sleek hardwood floors and textured sandstone tiles that properly display his fancy fixtures.
Mrs. Snark entered marriage a veritable furniture-impoverished peasant, bringing with her a couple red Lazy Boy recliners, two scratched end tables, and a pair of lamps that Mr. Snark grudgingly accepted but only after they were re-shaded.
Recently, the Snarks ripped out the living room carpet and had a new pad and carpeting installed by Home Despot. (We paid to have it professionally done, so naturally there's no story here...sorry.)
Mid-day, an excited Mr. Snark called his wife.
"How does it look?" he asked.
"It looks good," Mrs Snark said.
"How does it look next to the old carpet?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" Mrs Snark asked.
"Does the old carpet look better?"
What he meant: I believe that the new carpet's aura of plush newness will somehow spill over onto the dingy, twenty-year-old carpet, magically transforming it into something nicer.
This is the sort of faulty reasoning that leads middle-aged men to purchase bright red convertibles and take up with women young enough to be their daughters.
Somewhere in the male mind is the unshakeable faith that being next to something (or someone) young and beautiful will transform his sorry old-goat self.
Mrs. Snark sighed. "No, dear. The old carpet in fact looks even more beaten and worn compared to the new, but I know it'll make you happy. After my European book tour, we can discuss a red Corvette, but so help me God, you'd better not let me catch you with a college co-ed."