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Chapter 2: From the Body to the Soul

And then man is capable of tackling any problem intellectually. He is afraid of the woman because her ways of tackling a problem are very intuitive, instinctive. No woman is intellectual - intelligent of course, but not intellectual. Man’s intelligence is of one kind, and hers, the woman’s intelligence, is of a totally different kind. Man’s intelligence is the essence of his intellect, and woman’s intelligence arises out of her intuitiveness. There is no meeting ground - there is no possibility of it. They are polar opposites, that’s why they are attracted to each other. Because they cannot understand each other there is mystery between them; that mystery is of great appeal.

A frustrated man was staring hopelessly down the platform at the departing train. “If you hadn’t taken so long getting ready,” he accused his wife, “we would have caught it.”

“Yes,” she replied, “and if you hadn’t hurried me we wouldn’t have so long to wait for the next one!”

“Is this supposed to be art? Why on earth did they hang this picture here?” one woman asked another in an art gallery.

“Maybe they couldn’t find the painter,” the other replied.

A beautiful blonde filled in the job application.

The personnel director looked it over, then said, “Miss Johnson, under ‘Experience’ could you be a little more specific than just ‘Oh, boy!’?”

A girl in a whorehouse of a red-light district told the madam one day that she was quitting.

“You can’t do that,” protested the madam, “you’re the best girl I’ve got. Why, I’ve seen you go upstairs thirty and more times a night.”

“That’s right,” the girl agreed. “That’s why I’m quitting. My feet are killing me, and it’s on account of those damn stairs!”

It is very difficult for me, Prageet, to answer your question. You will have to ask your woman yourself.

Schumann, the postman, was retiring. On his last day, as usual, he delivered to Mrs. Katz, who invited him in for a fine breakfast.

When he finished and was about to leave, she beckoned him into the bedroom where they made love for an hour. When he was getting ready to leave, she handed him an envelope with a dollar bill in it.

Schumann was overwhelmed. “Look, Mrs. Katz,” he said finally, “I’ve been delivering your mail for the past twenty years and you have never so much as offered me a cup of coffee. So why today did all this happen?”

“Well,” she said, “I told my husband Sol that you were retiring today and he said, ‘Fuck him! Give him a buck!’ - the breakfast was my idea!”

Enough for today.