At the finish, the Alzheimer’s had left his mother a lost, old woman who would sit all day in her geriatric chair staring off into the distance. He would check out her at the church home and sit by her side, attempting his ideal to lure the old light back into her eyes, hoping to see for just a moment the spark of recognition that would sometimes reappear out of the blue.

The macrocosm of how ladies truly are in a wide sense is irrelevant in the face of the microcosm, the (reasonably) tiny community of ladies a man chooses to surround himself with. If all those women are vapid and simply impressed, it really is no wonder if he tends to make this general assessment of ladies-but, in the end, it is all his own carrying out. He is no much better than they are in truth, he is …