If you are a married woman, what you about to read may incite a violent action.
I’m talking about something even worse than opening the kitchen cupboard that sets off a Tupperware avalanche!
“Hello 9-1-1!!! This is Eunice Entwistle calling. I need help! I’m buried in a gazillion plastic containers and mismatched lids. It’s reaching all the way up to my easy-to-clean kitchen backsplash that compliments my durable, non-porous, mould-resistant granite countertop!”
So, before you read this column I suggest that you find a comfortable chair to sit in. Perhaps go down to the basement and dig out one of those chic fabric-covered chiavari chairs that your daughter ‘had to have’ for her wedding reception!
I have no warning for married men…
That’s because men aren’t reading this. They’re watching golf on their big screen television, putting golf balls in the bedroom, shining their golf clubs, cleaning their golf shoes, reading Golf Digest, or planning a golf junket with their friends.
Based on my personal experience, I have come to the conclusion that grown men aren’t stupid.
WHOA! I forewarned you that you’d become agitated.
The reason I’ve decided grown men aren’t stupid is because ‘alternate facts’ get in the way. These ‘alternate facts’ cause confusion, that’s all.
Let me define ‘grown men.’
I’m talking retired baby boomers. You know the type: guys who wonder aimlessly around the house until noon every day still wearing their nasal strip! They slop coffee on their ripped pyjamas– scratching where they shouldn’t with the California shutters open! All the while they repeat the same mantra over and over again: “I don’t know how I got anything done while I was still working!”
To prove this isn’t fake news, I’ll give an example to prove grown men aren’t stupid, it’s that alternate facts get in the way…
Jan will say, “Gary can you bring the ironing board to the den please? I’m going to binge watch ‘Fixer Upper’ on television while I catch up on the ironing.”
This solicits a response from me that is best described as, ‘useless.’
I shrug my shoulders, grimace and say the obvious, “Dear, which room is our den? Is the den our study? Or do you mean our family room? And if you mean the family room do you mind telling me which room that is?”
Part of my confusion is that Jan and I have only lived in our current home for six years– so that explains not knowing the den from the study from the family room.
What I do know is that she doesn’t mean the living room. That’s because the only time homeowners are allowed in their living room is when the minister is coming over. It’s all outlined in the Municipal Building Code.
The pollsters– who’ve got lots of time on their hands since the Presidential campaign ended– need a project they can’t screw up so they surveyed women’s confidence in grown men’s intelligence.
They found that 19 times out of 20, over 80% of married women will go so far as to throw their hands in the air and scream, “I don’t know why I put up with this!”
Even experienced, university-educated sociologists– at least the ones who aren’t gainfully employed and drive for Uber to make some extra bucks after they finish their shift at a fast food restaurant– have studied this type of stupefying male behavior.
These experts figure that any reasonably intelligent husband– okay so that’s an oxymoron!– should have a handle on the different rooms in their house, surely by the time he retires!
And don’t go blaming grown men’s stupid behavior on selective hearing.
The root of the problem is that men weren’t involved when the Home Decorators of America met to officially assign the names for the rooms in today’s modern house. This was back before cable television invented networks such as DIY with popular shows like Rehab Addict– which has nothing to do with the NFL’s substance abuse program.
“Welcome everybody to the inaugural meeting of the RNC. No, not that RNC, the Room Naming Committee (RNC). Today we will resolve what to call the room that middle age men can’t figure out is the den, the study, or the family room.”
“Also on the agenda we have a report from our RNC subcommittee recommending that the ‘craft room’– with sharp straight pins, scraps of ribbon, and plastic flowers from Hobby Lobby scattered in multiple layers on the kitchen floor– be renamed the ‘Glue Gun Room.’ This is in accordance with the Fire Marshall who has deemed that hot glue oozing from a glue gun onto engineered hardwood flooring meets the definition of a fire hazard which is a reportable offence.”
But it isn’t just the den that is the culprit.
“Gary, can you install more shelves in our bedroom closet?”
“Dear, do you mean the ‘His & Hers’ closet? Or, is it the 10% Mine & 90% Yours closet?”
This qualifies as the 19 times out of 20 when Jan will throw her hands in the air and scream, “I don’t know why I put up with this!”
Gary Chalk, a retired Canadian baby boomer is a member of Humor Writers of America. Each week 3,000 people across North America read Living Retired. To unsubscribe or to book Gary’s keynote presentation ‘I Don’t Have Wrinkles, I Have Laugh Lines’ visit http://LivingRetired.press