What's inside your cover?

I was sitting at the kitchen table earlier today trying to solve yesterday's sudoku in the paper without getting any help from today's solutions and I had an interesting epiphany. It became so clear and distinct to me as to why women always seem to clump together at social gatherings. It's not merely to be social and talk together. Oh, no, it's not just that.

This insight came to me in such a flash of comprehension that I was stunned by the simplicity of this realization. It's all part of the game, and I'm not talking about politics here. Yes, that infamous Game of Love.

It is about watching that (alcohol induced?) emboldened male walk up to this convivial grouping of females. Which at this point, this male will then introduce himself to one of the (lucky?) females in that grouping, possibly proffering some token gift and hoping that more will come out of it. And throughout this entire interaction, the peacock is (unwittingly?) being scrutinized by this woman's fellow female companions, who will then report to the targeted female what their opinion of the aforementioned peacock was. It doesn't matter what the conversation between the peacock and this female results in. (I've been trying very hard not to call this group of females by another name that is synonymous with young hens here.)

It makes so much sense now. It explains why females go in groups to the lavatory, for they might be accosted without another set of eyes to lay upon some unsuspecting suitor. It explains why when a guy walks up to these women, they all become silent until he walks away disheartened by the uncomfortable silence. It explains why they form circles, lest they miss seeing some piece of eye candy in one corner of the room. It also explains why women go to bars without money.

Granted, this cognizance isn't all encompassing, but this realization has been subconsciously gnawing at me and causing me vexation for longer than I care to admit. To have the solution surface without my conscious direction and understanding is fascinating to say the least and also very enlightening, of course. I also think that this effort by which I knock my imperfect supposition off of the proverbial pedestal was long in coming for me. The perception that there is very much a similarity between these two separate subspecies is also comforting.

And yet, it proves with greater certainty that we really are looking for what is on the cover as the primary criteria for selection and that intellectual depth as well as character development on the inside as secondary. Perhaps even considering these secondary traits as a bonus. If the cover is gaudily (or scantily) dressed enough, does what exists within those covers matter? What does this realization speak about me, when I also look for a nicely covered book hoping that the contents are just as interesting?

I begin to wonder if such a book exists both in a literary and physical sense. I've always wondered why classics are produced with such plain appearing covers when something so interesting lurks within those pages. Maybe I am looking at these things all wrong.

Forget the cover and look for what is inside? Is the gaudy cover merely a distraction? An illusion that there is something more complex and intriguing written on those pages? What a difficult proposition to reconcile this recognition with my own hormone induced urges. So. What's inside your cover?