Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, I May Be Sleeping with Snakes

I don't truck much with the let's-get-a-pretend-laugh stereotypes we all throw about on a daily basis re: men and women: men are dullards who forget anniversaries & would rather scream at "Sports Center" with their buddies than commit to a woman; women are nags who want to talk feelings 24/7 and are, of course, "crazy." Blah blah blah. I always assume in the end people are all kinda the same, we all wanna be nice, we're all a little crazy, we all want the same things.

But then I think of Halle Berry, and it occurs to me you know what, maybe it's the dudes who are crazy? I mean she's been married & divorced TWICE and both times it wasn't because she realized "hey wait a minute I'm Halle Berry for fucks sake, I can do better than this idiot"; both times it's because of the dudes acting like complete lunatics. David Justice was married to her and one day he decided "I get to sleep with arguably the single hottest woman in the world every night, and all she asks in return is that she be able to devote herself to our lives together...hmmmmmm, sounds like it's time to start slapping her around." Sure makes sense to me, David Justice!

And then the next dipshit, Eric whatshisname. This dude's a complete nobody, somehow gets plucked outta the nothingsphere to be Mr. Halle Berry. And so what does he do? Run hot baths for her, you say? Rub her feet all night while baking her sugar cookies? Nah. Our guy Eric decides "you know what...this is probably a good time to start fucking other women." Brilliant.

And then of course he blames it on his affliction, his being "addicted to sex." Oh no, poor Eric! He has a medical problem! It's called "Ihaveadick-itis" dumbass, and guess what: we're ALL sex addicts, and you're married to the woman we all wanna have sex with!! I mean, what the fuck is wrong with these dudes?

I've been sitting here wondering what it would take to make me leave Halle Berry, or even remotely rock the boat to fuck things up. So far I've come up with a scenario in which if she insists I have to sleep in a room filled with King Cobras every night, I'd leave her. But even then I'm hesitating, even then I'm confirming with a friend:

"I mean, that's fucking crazy, right? I can't do that."
"Dude. She's crazy, you gotta get outta there."
"Yeah...I mean, that's crazy, right? (long pause) right? I mean...there's no way I could make friends with the snakes, right? Would you do it? No, right? Yes? No?"
"Dude."
"No no no, I'm just saying, I mean...you'd leave, right? Right? Sure you would, yeah, me too...yeah, I'm definitely breaking up with her (slooooooooooowly dialing digits to call her, closing phone, rethinking, slooooooooooowly dialing again, closes phone again....)...but I mean I dunno, how dangerous ARE King Cobras, really..."

Along with the standard "hotness/crazy" ratio we all work under within the physics of the known Universe, is there’s somehow a level at which the “how crazy does she have to be for him to leave her?” get flipped to “she’s so hot that even if she’s not crazy at all, somehow the men end up being the ones who are revealed to be batshit crazy”?