I had my “Main Squeeze” visit me on Sunday. She drove two hours to spend a few hours with me. I thought that was really nice.
But…you all know how it is against my nature to deal with life in a rational, commonplace way. So, I know what you gentle regular readers are thinking…“how will he screw this up?” You will be happy to know-after all these years that I didn’t let my gentle readers down. I screwed it up.
You regular readers all know that I am a few herring short of a barrel, but I must be the reigning ambassador of stupid. I have no idea which quirky cranny of my brain that my next bonehead moved was hatched.
I asked myself, what would a really perceptive, sensitive, twenty-first century, tactful guy do?? So, when she got here, I put her to work in my kitchen!! Geez, the gates are down, the lights are flashing – but the train isn’t on the track! I should have listened to my Daddy’s advise: “If you don’t think too good; don’t think too much.”
I tried to make it sound like it would be an exercise in togetherness. “Why don’t we make lunch together?” But – it was a Sunday, a couple of college Basketball games were on… it wasn’t my fault – but pretty soon the squeeze was in the kitchen making a great meal and I was watching sports center. Bright as Alaska in December. I figure – why be difficult, with just a little more effort, I can be impossible.
I would like to make her a good meal sometime, but my cooking skills are limited pretty much to cheerios, leftovers and some pretty ghastly casseroles. If some of my casseroles had been delivered to the Donner party who survived that plane crash in the Andes, they would have still turned to cannibalism. My biscuits have been used to repair the potholes in the pavement in front
of my house.
After what I felt was a suitable time for getting lunch on the table and after the game was over, I thought she got a tiny bit snotty and made a crack about how my kitchen was not very well organized. I told her that I thought organized people were just too lazy to look for things.
Then she complained because my cooking oil was rancid and how long did I have it? I said I got custody of the cooking oil and the spices in my last divorce. I could tell that her sense of humor was dwindling the more time she spent in the kitchen.
I believe by the time we were seated around the table, that if Charlie Manson and Jeffery Dahmer had been invited, that I would have been the third most popular guy at the table.
Well, I do admit that I double-bogeyed that particular episode, but macho law prohibits me from admitting that I am wrong.
But there was one thing that I learned and from this scenario, that is: women Do come with instructions; all you have to do is ask them.