I believe that, in general, women are saner than men.

For example: If you see people who have paid good money to stand in an
outdoor stadium on a freezing December day wearing nothing on the upper
halves of their bodies except paint, those people will be male.

Without males, there would be no such sport as professional lawnmower
racing.

Also, there would be a 100-percent decline in the annual number of
deaths related to efforts to shoot beer cans off of heads.

There would be no such words as "wedgie" and "noogie."

Also, if women were in charge of all the world's nations there would be
-- I sincerely believe this -- virtually no military conflicts, and when
there was a military conflict, everybody involved would feel just awful
and there would soon be a high-level exchange of thoughtful notes
written on greeting cards with flowers on the front, followed by a Peace
Luncheon (which would be salads, with the dressing on the side).

So I sincerely believe that women are wiser than men, with the exception
of one key area, and that area is: clothing sizes. In this particular
area, women are insane.

When a man shops for clothes, his primary objective -- follow me closely
here -- is to purchase clothes that fit on his particular body. A man
will try on a pair of pants, and if those pants are too small, he'll try
on a larger pair, and when he finds a pair that fits, he buys them. Most
men do not spend a lot of time fretting about the size of their pants.
Many men wear jeans with the size printed right on the back label, so
that if you're standing behind a man in a supermarket line, you can read
his waist and in-seam size. A man could have, say, a 52-inch waist and a
30-inch in-seam, and his label will proudly display this information,
which is basically the same thing as having a sign that says: "Howdy! My
butt is the size of a Federal Express truck!"

The situation is very different with women. When a woman shops for
clothes, her primary objective is NOT to find clothes that fit her
particular body. She would like for that to be the case, but her primary
objective is to purchase clothes that are the size she wore when she was
19 years old. This will be some arbitrary number such as "8" or "10."
Don't ask me "8" or "10" of what that question has baffled scientists
for centuries. All I know is that if a woman was a size 8 at age 19, she
wants to be a size 8 now, and if a size 8 outfit does not fit her, she
will not move on to a larger size: she can't! Her size is 8. So she will
keep trying on size 8 items, and unless they start fitting her, she will
become extremely unhappy. She may take this unhappiness out on her
husband, who is waiting patiently in the mall, perhaps browsing in the
Sharper Image store, trying to think of how he could justify purchasing
a pair of night-vision binoculars.

"Hi!" he'll say, when his wife finds him. "You know how sometimes the
electricity goes out at night and..."

"Am I fat?" she'll ask, cutting him off.

This is a very bad situation for the man, because if he answers "yes,"
she'll be angry because he's saying that she's fat, and if he answers
"no," she'll be angry because HE'S OBVIOUSLY LYING BECAUSE NONE OF THE
SIZE 8's FIT HER. There is no escape for the husband. I think a lot of
unexplained disappearances occur because guys in malls see their wives
unsuccessfully trying on outfits, and they realize their lives will be
easier if, before their wives come out and demand to know whether
they're fat, the guys just run off and join a UFO cult.

The other day my wife, Michelle, was in a terrific mood, and you know
why? Because she had successfully put on a size 6 outfit. She said this
made her feel wonderful. She said, and this is a direct quote: "I
wouldn't care if these pants were this big (here she held her arms far
apart) as long as they have a '6' on them."

Here's how you could get rich: Start a women's clothing store called
"SIZE 2," in which all garments, including those that were originally
intended to be restaurant awnings, had labels with the words "SIZE 2." I
bet you'd sell clothes like crazy. You'd probably get rich, and you
could retire, maybe take up some philanthropic activity to benefit
humanity. I'm thinking here of professional lawnmower racing.