We women are all these little compact universes. Each of us have a sense of infinity about us- ever expanding, (not just our asses.) We are always searching, growing, puzzling through. Nothing is ever truly complete or final. This isn't to say that we are necessarily pessimists or perfectionists (at least not all of us.) It means that there is always an optimism or opportunity. Maybe it is why or because we are the carriers of life. This belief in the eternal possibility of just that thing we do- regeneration.
Most men are finite creatures. That is not to say boring or lazy, necessarily, (although it must be noted that these are definite possibilities,) but just looking at a man, it seems truly possible to know everything there is to know about him. Men can really close up an issue and lock it up and truly never think about it again.
Woman, to man's chagrin, rarely, if ever, forgets.
And then- she's usually only pretending to forget.