Every woman in that room knew exactly what she meant. She was talking about her husband. He thinks things are great. She knows they aren’t. When she looks around at her girlfriends, nobody seems surprised.

Different houses. Different names. Same man.

But every once in a while there’s a different conversation. One woman starts talking and the room gets quiet. Not because things are perfect. Because something is different. When she says his name, the other women don’t nod in sympathy.

They wish.

That’s a Masculine Man.

You don't think of yourself as a controlling man. You've never raised your hand. You don't raise your voice. And yet she walks on eggshells.