Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Figuring Out The American Male, or Not

I have been living among the male of the human species for all of my life, first with a father and two brothers. Later with my husband, and three sons.  There are things I have noticed common to most of these individuals. Now don’t get me wrong, not all males demonstrate all of these traits, but I think most mothers/wives/girlfriends/sisters will recognize at least a few of my observations.
Male Blindness
For some unknown reason, men are seemingly struck blind when opening a refrigerator door. I don’t know if the light from inside the appliance knocks out the optic nerve, but usually when that door is opened it will invariably be followed by a plaintive cry of “Where is the milk/OJ?”  Now if your refrigerator is like mine, there is only one shelf tall enough to accommodate the aforementioned liquids. There is not a lot of space to hide things on that 2x2 space.  Yet time and time again, a female is called in to aid in the search and recovery operation.  Forget asking them to get the jelly or mustard, as the smaller size of these perishables virtually disappears before their eyes. I believe the old adage if you want something out of the fridge, just get up and get it yourself was coined by the first housewife that was a proud owner of an “ice box.” Interestingly enough they can always find a beer, soda, or that last sliver of cheesecake you were hiding, with the precision of a special ops team.
This affliction is not limited to the refrigerator. Apparently selective sight kicks in when a clean basket of laundry is sitting at the base of the stairs.  Suddenly they become imbued with the high jump capabilities of a gold winning Olympian. They go over it, around it, and basically ignore it.  When questioned as to why they didn’t bring their clean clothes up to their room, they will look you straight in the eye, and say “I never saw the basket.”
Ditto on the “this room looks like a pig sty,” refrain, you just get a puzzled look. They honestly don’t see the mess. I mean really why put things away in a closet or drawer, when you have all this available floor space?
Toss Out Nothing
This may be related in some way to the previous discussion. I cannot count the number of times I have done a quick scan of my food inventory before I go grocery shopping only to find out we are out of most staples within the following 24 hours.  How does this happen you might ask.  The gentlemen I reside with do not believe in tossing the empty containers into the garbage.  According to my inventory, I had 6 boxes of assorted cereals, a gallon of milk, a pound of butter, and two loaves of bread.  I come to discover, usually during the following morning’s breakfast rush, that all the cereal boxes are empty. The milk jug contains less than one teaspoon of liquid, the bread has gone stale due to non-closure of the package, and once again I was duped by the empty box that I assumed held a pound of butter. Upon closer inspection I find that more than 50% of my dry goods are actually just empty husks. Well I am exaggerating a bit, some of the boxes do contain one cracker in the sleeve, and a half dozen frosted flakes. I believe the unwritten rule is if you finish off the item, you are responsible for tossing out the empties.  Hence most boxes contain trace amounts of the original contents.
Mechanical Ability with Household Apparatus
It never ceases to amaze me the dexterity displayed by the male of our species when it comes to a TV remote. The same applies to the uncanny ability they have when programming any new cell phone, knowledge of the latest apps, and their skill with texting. However they cannot change the toilet paper when the roll runs out.   Any new roll put into play by one of the “boys” will reside on the back of the tank. Similarly is the profusion of used glasses that will sit on the counter mere inches from the dishwasher, but never quite make it inside.  These same people will roll their eyes when they go to retrieve a clean glass from said appliance, and find out “no one” (a euphemism for me) turned on the dishwasher.  I have tried explaining to them that the above mentioned tasks do not require a uterus. Nor is that particular body part required to run a vacuum, wash a floor, or pick up after oneself.  This falls on deaf ears, which brings me to….
SELECTIVE LISTENING
I often wonder if the sound of my voice is what they use in white noise machines. I seem to have that effect on the males of our species. Oh they give the appropriate responses when a request is made; a head nod, an okay, whatever, yet it spurs no action. Things have to be repeated a number of times, while catching; and here is the tough part, and maintaining eye contact. Hours later they will swear I never asked, reminded, or told them anything.  This is glaringly obvious when I give directions while a male is driving the car. My husband actually told me he would rather depend on the GPS for navigation. Sad thing is, our GPS is programmed with a female voice, and he ignores her as well. Many times I listen as our GPS directs him to make the next legal u-turn, again.
Health and the American Male
Not all, but most of the men I know get sicker than women. How do I know this?  They tell me.  “My cold is much worse than yours,” is a common refrain. Their throat hurts more, their fever is higher, and their cough probably means pneumonia. In my experience the patient wants you in earshot at all times. All the better to keep them hydrated, medicated, fed toast, and to generally play step and fetch it.  There are other medically interesting factoids about males.  They do not tolerate gas; if experienced, it is forcefully and loudly expelled immediately from the nearest bodily orifice, without a whiff of embarrassment. Apparently these poor souls are also afflicted with very itchy skin, or so it would appear. Injuries seem to affect the male of our species more often as well.  Then again, you don’t see many gals trying to skateboard down a flight of concrete steps, or join in a rousting game of tackle football.  This brings me to…
Sports
Most of the men I have had the pleasure of knowing, love to watch a good sporting event.  When they get to see the game in person, it is even better.  What puzzles me though is if you were there, and saw the game, why do you have to watch the slo-mo replays, tune in to ESPN Sports Zone for highlights, and then grab up the Sports section of the newspaper to read about it the next morning?  Ask me, I can tell you, the score didn’t change. I mean I really enjoyed the Jerry Maguire movie, but I don’t rewind to watch the “you had me at hello” scene over and over.
It has also been my experience that guys also think the players can hear them through the television. Why else would they loudly scream directions at the TV, and then admonish the quarterback loudly, when he didn’t use the suggestion? Just another male mystery, I guess.
Sex
They love it.  Enough said.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Whats' in Your Gift Basket?

Well its’ that time of year again, Holiday Baskets!  That’s right; tis the season when my husband’s grateful clients and vendors send him gift baskets in a show of appreciation and seasonal cheer.  This is not a good thing.
 I am just barely recovered from my Halloween chocolate orgy.  Although I must say the kids are getting much more cunning in their attempts to thwart my candy raids. They used to leave that pillowcase in plain view on the kitchen counter.  This changed when they noticed the chocolate inventory was experiencing some mysterious, but rapid shrinking, while Mom was doing some equally curious rapid expansion. Oh they tried hiding it; in the family room, then up in their bedrooms, then down the cellar, then in zip-loc bags in the toilet tanks, you know all the usual places. But you have to get up pretty early in the morning to outwit a professional chocoholic. If I could ferret out explosives as well as I do anything make from the cocoa bean, I could be the TSA’s Gal of the year. Lord knows I try and resist, in fact I willingly put Hershey Park on my official list of “no fly zones.” But if that stuff makes it into my house all bets are off.
The first Gift basket made its appearance yesterday.  A beautifully decorated glittery basket from that fine purveyor of chocolates that will go unnamed; just think a lady with long hair, short on wardrobe choices. Yippee! I thought.  After tearing through layers of tissue and ribbons, cutting through bows and inedible decorations, the sum total of edible chocolate food stuff added together did not a full size Milky Way make. My husband, upon seeing the rifled basket, remarked that he planned to bring in some of those chocolates to share with his staff. “Were you planning on giving them one chocolate covered raisin each?”I replied.  Besides your staff are those strange people that leave little glass bowls filled with Hershey Kisses on their desks.  Who does that sort of thing? How can you really trust a person that can have that in full view, and not gobble down the entire contents in one stressful afternoon?  Back in the day when I worked in an office, my stash was kept in a locked drawer in my desk, as God intended. But I digress…..
Now I am sure this kind person paid a very pretty penny for this gift, as none of these Chocolatier’s baskets go for under $50.00. They were gyped. If they had only gone to a big box store, they could have easily purchased 100 large size snickers bars, and gotten change back! (Don’t ask me how I know this) Then I would have been willing to share…. maybe. I believe that if the packaging outweighs the edibles by more than 75%, you are getting ripped off. Call me crazy, but when it comes to sweets I am definitely in the quantity over quality camp. As a fifty plus year consumer of candy, I have yet to have a “bad” chocolate. An oxymoron if I ever heard one.
Well re-gift you may counsel.  I would, but curiosity always gets the better of me.  I always think that today will be the day I discover a huge bonanza of butter crunch hidden under the tissue paper. So far that hasn’t happened. They say curiosity killed the cat, but I counter with, satisfaction brought him back. Hope springs eternal, and the basket season has just begun. Maybe this is the year all my basket fantasies will come true. I’ll keep you posted.