This oft repeated phrase from the lead mechanic at work is meant to convey a sense of fear and anger at gender variation and femininity in general. He hopes for an answer that will confirm my allegiance to the cult of men, but my unwillingness to conform remains a puzzling sore spot for him to ponder.
It's all in the game of gender play, the roles produce stilled scripts that seem unsuitable to individuals, but pretense insists that these learned behaviors are biologically predetermined.
Swish one day, swagger the next; these are the two sides of the same coin that most people refuse to flip over. What kind of security does self destruction provide? At least the decimation seems consistent; better the hell you know.