A Visit To The Bank

Today was another adventure in paradise.  My wife was feeling much better and since we had to go to the bank, she decided to return to driving.  That is married driving, which all married men understand because that means I do the mechanical part while she provides instructions like “you’re going too fast”  “watch that car” “turn here” while I provide the yelling.  Nevertheless, we arrive at the bank with only a minimum number of threats of divorce.  We live in a small town so our bank is small and VERY conservative.  You know right away that this is a conservative bank because the metal detectors are on the exits rather than the entrance.  No one is walking out of there with any money if they can help it.  If you think an opium addict suffers from withdrawals you should see these people.

On this particular day we had deposits to make, to set up an automatic deposit of our social security checks, and to meet with our financial advisor who makes Ebenezer Scrooge look like Bernie Madoff – or maybe it’s “he makes Bernie Madoff look like Scrooge – I’m not sure.   But first we elected to eat a cookie which is considered part of our interest payment – in fact given their interest rates that might be the entire interest.  Unfortunately the clerk – Ms Darling --  who usually handles our deposits wasn’t there so a new clerk – Ms Ditzy -- attempted to help us.  This didn’t go well because there were too many checks going into too many accounts with money being transferred into accounts and between accounts sort of like the old shell game – now you see it – now you don’t – guess which account is overdrawn!!.  So after several attempts to explain what we wanted, we split up with the wife moving on to another clerk – Mr Helpful --  to set up the automatic deposit.  The government assures us that this is a simple procedure (insert wild laughter) so you can guess how well this went..

Mr Helpful – who knows us and should have known the result -- made the mistake of telling my wife that this could be done on line.  As soon as I heard him say that I knew that was like waving a red flag to a bull and quickly ducked under my chair, thus totally distracting Ms Ditzy but avoiding any thrown objects as my wife explained what she thought of the federal government, their expectations and their abuse of senior citizens.  This harangue caused Ms Ditzy to lose her place and we had to start the entire depositing process from the beginning while reversing what had already been done.  I didn’t comment as she crumpled up the deposit slips and notes and hurled them against the partition separating us from the social security discussion going on at high volume next to us. 

During this growing circus like atmosphere our financial advisor arrived with a merry smile, good humor and a friendly greeting.  He quickly determined that maybe this wasn’t the best time as my wife incorporated him into the discussion of government incompetence and abuse of senior citizens.  Seeing any hope of a commission vanishing before his eyes he retreated to his office as our usual teller—Ms Darling arrived and began to give orders like a drill sergeant.  She immediately directed Mr Helpful – to be helpful and call the social security hot line and masquerade as my wife.  This was a government office and they wouldn’t know a citizen from an elephant so it wouldn’t matter that he was neither a female nor my wife.  A newly hired clerk (Ms WTF) who had been watching these events with wide eyes and open mouth was told to handle the deposits, while Ms Ditzy was instructed to handle the money transfers, while Ms Darling supervised.  We were then dismissed to meet with Mr Madoff our financial advisor.

Mr Madoff immediately launched into his magic act using magic words apparently gleaned from the Business Channel, spiced with key words from the Weather channel and COPs while shaking his head and looking grim.  After checking all of our investments and assuming the expression one usually associates with an undertaker, he shook his head and said that he needed another $10,000 if there was any hope of salvaging our future.  So I shuffled out and informed Ms Ditzy that I needed to withdraw $10,000 immediately, which caused her to fall over her computer in tears while Ms Darling wrote the check after re-computing all of the deposits just completed by Ms WTF.  The check was then handed to Mr Madoff who tucked into his briefcase so fast you might have thought it was written in invisible ink.  So we left the office to a round of applause and cheers from the entire staff.  But just as we were about to leave the alarms went off , the cheering stopped, and Ms Darling announced in a hysterical voice “OH MY GOD – we accidently deposited $24,000 into your checking account.  We immediately dashed for the exist and thus ended our banking adventure.

 

 

 

 

Driving Grandpa

 

My wife and I elected to spend some time in Dallas.  We had intended to rent a car while there but our college age grandson offered his car.  Now this is a typical college car, meaning that the hood is one color, the left front quarter panel another, and the right another color altogether--quite a fashion statement for an aging grandparent.  Of course the back seat is filled with used gym equipment and clothes while the floor looks like the remains of a fast food tasting bonanza.  Still this was low cost transportation generously offered by our grandson. 

I needed to go shopping so I wheel out of the driveway and onto the busy street leading to the market.  I go about a hundred yards when the dreaded flashing lights come on.  I pull over and fish out my driver’s license.  The nice young policeman – looking and acting very professional – asks me for my driver’s license, which I give to him.  He looks at it, then at me, then the car, and then the humiliating pile of trash in the back seat – says with stunning clarity – you’re from Michigan?  YES – I reply with friendly enthusiasm trying to distract him from asking what I would be doing in a car like this.  Then the dreaded question of “Can I see your proof of insurance and registration ?”   Using my most disarming smile I explain that this is my grandson’s car but I’ll check.  I open the glove box and it is stuffed with napkins, papers, wrappers, and as far as I can tell newspaper clippings from the Titanic disaster.  Nevertheless, I make a heroic effort of rummaging through the pile of debris but clearly testing the officer’s patience.  After a period of nanoseconds to me and glacial ages to him, he says “fergetaboutit”.  What’s your grandson’s name?  I give him the name explaining that he is in college in Oklahoma. 

At this point the officer retires to his cruiser and returns with more questions.  Where did you say your grandson is?  Oklahoma I reply.  If he is in Oklahoma why does the car have Texas License Plates?  His parents live in Texas I said.  OH – Whose car is it?  His? I say in my most suspicious voice.  The officer then asks me who owns the car?  Of course at this point I have no idea and honestly reply – I don’t know.  During this exchange the officer is carefully cataloguing everything in the backseat.  Finally, he says” Your registration is expired – did you know that?  At this point I have visions of being arrested for a stolen vehicle.  Before I can respond he also points out that the inspection sticker is not only expired, it expired two years previously.  I can only explain that this isn’t my car, I don’t know who owns it, I don’t know how my grandson got it, I’m innocent!!

The nice young officer clearly can see that I am just a grandfather totally confused by modern society and asks – “Do you know why I stopped you?”  Before I can say “grand theft auto” he says “your brake light is out – you need to get that fixed.  He simply laughs and returns to his cruiser.  I complete my errand and return the car.  As I exit the car the bumper falls off!!  Maybe a car rental was a better idea.

My Day in Paradise

We all look forward to that day when we can take the exit ramp from the rat race and coast into a blissful retirement. A time when our day is filled with trips to exotic places and leisure time spent with our loving children and grandchildren. Of course by the time you get to that exit ramp most of those plans are set aside because you are too busy with everything that you have to do now that you are retired. I’m not talking about all of those big projects like painting the house which you postponed until retirement, because now that you have the time getting on a ladder is impossible unless you are looking for a large insurance settlement. No – I’m talking about all of those simple little tasks like mowing the lawn or shopping for groceries. Of course I really love grocery shopping because I amuse myself as I cruise through the aisles randomly dropping products into the shopping carts of people who I think could use these products. My favorite is finding the person who has filled their cart with mountains of high fiber, low calorie, organic foods and dropping in a jar of Cheese Whiz.

But there are other simple tasks that seem to morph into major projects, like my recent attempt to water the lawn. Now watering the lawn doesn’t require a lot of skill, essentially it only requires placing the sprinkler on the lawn and turning the water on. But yesterday I turned the water on and noticed the hose connector to the sprinkler was leaking. I immediately got out my knife to cut off the end of the hose so I could replace it with a shiny new one. But senior citizens are a little forgetful and what I forgot was turning off the water BEFORE performing major hose surgery. Water gushes out soaking my pants leaving the impression that I might want to consider purchasing some “Depends”. Once I turned the water off and removed the end of the hose – only cutting myself once, I was ready to install the new connector. The connector was in one of those new plastic theft proof packages that require a sledge hammer or acetylene torch to penetrate. I did finally get the connector free – cutting myself the second time – and was ready for the installation – once I loosened the screws, which had been installed with super glue. Nevertheless I did get them loose cutting myself for the third time – except this time there was enough blood to warrant a CSI investigation. But I press on hampered only slightly by the band-aids and bandage, and eventually getting the new connector installed and the hose connected. I turn the water on and VOILA!! Water is squirting from the new connector with enough force and volume to wet me once again from top to bottom giving the impression that I am in the midst of a Depends crisis. I turned the water off (I learn fast) disconnected the offending hose, deposited it in the trash and installed a new hose straight from the store – leaky hose problem solved!! .

One of the major issues facing you in retirement is how to amuse your self once you tire of the Cheese-Whiz gambit. We see on television all of those wonderful retirement communities filled with senior citizens filling their time with exercise and blooming with the health that the average twenty year old would love to have. These advertisements promise a social life filled friends playing tennis and golf in between sailing in your own yacht and catching record breaking marlin. Well some people believe there’s a free lunch too, but the social circle for most retirees consists of bank clerks, the pharmacist, and a variety of doctors – with a couple that are on speed dial. So I don’t know where those senior citizens – as seen on TV – live and play but I strongly suspect they are photo-shopped twenty-something models. Just look at their waists, perfect teeth, tanned bodies and with hair in all of the ‘RIGHT” places. Real seniors have hair in all of the wrong places and haven’t seen a 30 inch waist in decades.

But there are some bright sides to retirement – in sort of a weird way. As we age our vision begins to play tricks on us. That is you see signs that you misread which can lead to some very funny times. For example something flashed across my TV screen that said “…dedicated heroism” except I read “… dedicated heroin” or on FaceBook the posting read “touch a hamster” but I read “touch a teamster” – the brain does pay tricks. So when I noticed a sign that said – in large bold letters – COOK WANTED. I laughed and said to my wife “Did you see that sign?” I think I’ll apply. She rolled her eyes, snickered and said “forgettaaboutit – it’s hard work and I don’t think you’re up for it!!. This ability to communicate is just one of life’s blessings that comes with age.

While retirement has many blessings there are some downsides, for example you lose your cutting edge with current culture and ability to communicate with the young. Recently I stopped into a Starbucks coffee shop for a cup of coffee but that turned out to be a humiliating experience because I hadn’t studied and wasn’t prepared for the test. I didn’t know how to order because I didn’t know that there was a process. . First you have to stand in a certain place to order and a special place to pick up your order – these instructions were administered in a style I that I associated with Nazi like precision. Once I moved to the “order station” I found you cannot just order a cup of coffee because there is a quiz. First you are asked what bean do you want? Very odd question which I failed because the only beans I know are baked or refried. Wrong answer – so the semi-friendly waitress (whom I’m sure was a Hitler Youth commandant) moved on to question two which was “the roast”. “I want coffee” was clearly the wrong answer once again because the young lady (silently named Brunhilda) moved on to the final question which was “whatsizedoyouwant”. With as much dignity as I had remaining I said “small” knowing that I would at least get one question right! Wrong again!! Brunhilda was no longer even talking she just pointed to a series of code words and since the only word I recognize is ‘Grande” I ended with enough coffee and caffeine to power the space shuttle. Later one of my young friends tells me that Starbucks doesn’t have waitresses they are called Baristas. I was amazed because I thought a Barista was a Guatemalan revolutionary.

So my next project for cultural enlightenment is to find out what a Kardashian is? That’s for my next report from paradise.

Just Another Day In Paradise

It seems all of our lives we look forward to retirement – right up to the time when it actually happens. Then we are faced with the reality that we must fill every day with interest and activity. For some this isn’t a challenge, they simply substitute paid work for unpaid work in the form of volunteering and others choose to travel while others simply go back to work. But then there is that small minority who simply try to withstand the daily adventure and mini-disasters that seem to follow them around, my wife and I seem to fall into that category. I offer a typical day in our retirement paradise.

Being retired we have no reason to rise before the chickens but after 40 years of greeting the sun with mixed emotions, it is now impossible to sleep in. Well not really – we sleep late now and don’t get up before 6 AM, which some see as the reason senior citizens are so crabby – they’re sleep deprived. But not us – we bounce out of bed each day ready for adventure. Of course we must admit there is less bounce than there used to be and some days we have to have a full Homeland Security groping just to ensure all of the body parts are intact, but still we start each day with enthusiasm. But – as the usual day in our retirement paradise progresses our enthusiasm wanes and today was very typical.

As usual we were up with the chickens and skipped downstairs, the skipping was due to having left our glasses downstairs and not being able to see all of the steps, so we skipped a couple. THAT gave us a good adrenalin rush, which we counted as our cardio-workout for the day. And now we were ready for breakfast. Contrary to what we tell our doctors we really don’t eat high fiber, low cholesterol, low carbohydrate, health foods so widely advertised on TV. You know the ones that promise perfect children, tight butts for life, and no need for health insurance. Instead we opt for the traditional breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, which would send our doctors into cardiac arrest if they knew, so we feel we are actually helping save their lives by telling them that we have given up real food and rely on better living through chemistry. But it isn’t like we are ignoring all aspects of the healthy life style. We no longer fry our eggs in the bacon grease but instead we use real butter – totally natural foods for us – no longer any of that processed junk peddled by the Pillsbury Dough Boy and his junk food pushing buddies like General Mills.

So this morning’s menu called for poached eggs on buttered toast with sausage. This was a simple healthy breakfast – easy to make, which I managed to whip up within minutes, but as usual nothing ever goes according to the plan. So I sat down for my breakfast and poked my fork into my poached egg. POW!!! My egg exploded!! This was not just some little poof – I mean it was like a car bomb. The yoke blew up and threw the yoke all over me, the table, and the floor. I figured I had been attacked by an egg bomb planted by some extremist militant PETA inspired chicken. Or maybe it was my doctor sending me the message to stick to egg whites, I don’t know which but I definitely was left with egg on my face. Well there was the sausage left so I stuck my fork into it. It was like releasing Niagara. It began to shoot a liquid clear across the plate and right onto my chest. I jumped back and yelled “My sausage just pissed on me!!” That turned out to be a poor choice of words because my wife wasn’t clear on just what sausage I was referring to and sort of took the position of “SO--? what else is new?” Another one of my failures in communications, but it seemed clear to me that I had been attacked by my breakfast, but I quickly decided I wasn’t dealing with an attack by PETA, the sausage was just showing solidarity with that Chicken or maybe it was the doctor delivering a symbolic message regarding my health choices.

So as you can see it wasn’t even 6:30 AM and our day was already off to a rocky start. But the sun came up, the day dawned, and so began another day in our little retirement paradise. I began working on my computer while The Commander In Chief (aka the wife) started her usual mysterious banging, tearing, squashing, and talking to herself. Suddenly there was an animal like scream and she immediately activated her emergency -- knight in shining armor alarm – that’s me, although the response time isn’t quite as fast as it used to be. So I dash downstairs – well dash at my age isn’t quite as fast as it once was but I arrive out of breath and in a rush of adrenalin (second cardio for the day). Of course I hadn’t heard the initial cry but I certainly hear the second one. It definitely sounds like an animal and it is in the HOUSE!! We immediately launch a search – well I search while my wife remains barricaded behind the chairs. After searching high and low, I bump into the package of toys she had wrapped for our grandchildren -- VOILA` The package emits this animal like cry!! She shouts “IT’S THE MONKEY!!” and of course being totally involved in all domestic events -- at a casual interest level -- I shout “WHAT MONKEY” Well it seems that as a welcome gift for my new iPhone, Verizon sent a monkey – Don`t ask because I don’t get the symbolism either. It seems my darling wife – had packed this monkey with the other toys destined for our grandchildren. This monkey makes screaming sounds as if it were being tortured (probably by a competitor like AT&T?)when moved or disturbed – mystery solved. So it was now lunch time and we have had two cardio-work outs and enough excitement for another typical day in retirement paradise. How the United Postal Service will react to this package is to be determined.

Educational Television

Television is indeed a wonderful medium, it teaches so much and then it sometimes shows you others in the learning process. But you are never quite sure who is learning -- the viewer, the writer, or those talking heads who the viewer is assured are really intelligent. I have learned so much from television that I feel I wasted years in reading and listening to all of those lectures. For instance I have learned the Bermuda Triangle should be avoided, I know that diet and exercise in association with virtually anything – like Chocolate Pudding for example – will cause you to lose weight. I have learned that smoking causes hang nails, weight gain, sexual dysfunction, and dental decay, plus reducing your mental competence to the point to where you vote Republican. I now know that Americans – all Americans are obese primarily from eating super-sized hamburgers and drinking Cokes. Television is truly an amazing medium and I learn constantly from it.

Television has assured me that in spite of all of the evidence to the contrary Evolution is a fact and not a theory and that we have actually descended from apes. Nevertheless I believe in freedom of religion so I continue to support Evolution as a belief system. I am totally aware that at any minute a huge meteor will strike the Earth and wipe out all of mankind. Television has taught me that Al Gore and Global Warming are real and we are in imminent danger of being roasted alive – or is it freeze to death due to the coming ice age that is the result of global warming? It is all so confusing. . I have learned that if your career has tanked the solution is to immediately announce that you have a drug or alcohol problem and you are bound for rehab. Of course what is to be rehabilitated is the career not the habit, but then who notices. But these are the global issues that everyone has learned from Television, but there are many other lessons lurking in the background – if you only watch. For example in television land – men are essentially stupid, women make the best rocket scientists, that weepy men are attractive to real babe’s, and women are truly the master race.

Alas, while I don’t totally agree with all of the wonderful feminists who assure me that as a male I am doomed to the life of serfdom and ignorance I see on television, I do find some (slim) facts that indicate they might be right. I think this understanding of the male role begins with marriage and that you need only to examine recently married men, you know the men who think that marriage really didn’t change anything other than the laundry service. Of course all of those men who have been married for longer than the average age of a fruit fly know that once you have uttered those fateful words “I DO” nothing is ever the same. Life as you know it has ended and your lifetime of adjusting to the weird world of women has begun. This adjustment requires a lifetime and the reality is most men never reach any true level of understanding the female mind, they simply adapt to the conditions. Women are simply different and this difference is much greater than the simple physical differences. The very foundation of these differences begins with what is important and what is not. For example for women there are approximately ten to the 27th power of things that are important but for the average male there are simply ten and after food and sex (in that order) he must be reminded of the other eight.

Almost immediately after that fateful day that is enshrined in the female mind as “the Anniversary”, the male comes to understand that all of those things that he enjoyed are “tacky” and that his wardrobe falls somewhere between pathetic and embarrassing. But this isn’t really where the learning and adjustment begins. Believe it or not it begins with women’s sizes and underwear --- errrr – ah yes – lingerie (pronounced “lawn – jer –ray’ – NOT “ling-grrr -eee). Most men don’t put a great deal of thought into their own clothes and even less into women’s other than ease of removal. Clothes for men come in small, medium, or large and extra-large and men generally fall into one of these categories unless of course we are talking about jock straps and in that case everyone wears a large (extra-large is pure ego and generally would not be believed). Now I have been married for many years and I still have not grasped women’s sizes. They come in petite, juniors (but no seniors) plus sizes (which no one seems to actually wear so why stores stock them I have no idea), and a whole bunch of other sizes, which all seem purely arbitrary. The numerical sizes do not follow any logical system because a size 6 and a size 7 are only sold to anorexics and seem to bear no relationship to each other.

But the real difference between the sexes lies in their underwear. For guys underwear is really pretty simple. You have briefs for guys who like comfort, or boxers for guys who like the wedgie feel, or for those guys who can’t decide whether to be cool or comfortable you have the boxer brief, and that’s it!!. For women there are entire stores devoted exclusively to their underwear and none seem oriented toward comfort – the merchandise not the store. The sizes are as mysterious as the Periodic Table of Elements. Bra’s seem to range in size from skimpy little band-aid type things to cupful, handful, and up to “Big Bertha”. The panties range in size from little pieces of lace that require a bikini wax to the “Thigh Master” and there the name says it all.

But it isn’t just the clothes that distinguish the sexes, we also have differences that the typical male can never seem to comprehend. For instance take the toilet paper, which as any man knows can be found on the toilet paper holder. How it gets there is largely unknown and it is generally believed by most men that there is some sort of a toilet paper fairy – who based on television is apparently known as “Charmin”. Charmin is both squeezable and efficient and replaces the toilet paper as required – I think. But this is actually an example of how truly simple men are because the female of the species has distinct preferences regarding the placement of the toilet paper on the holder. Once married the male quickly discovers that toilet paper must feed either over the top or from under the role. There really isn’t any correct way but every woman has a preference and if the husband intends to continue his conjugal relationship he should master this art of toilet paper replacement.

But the toilet paper adjustment is only the tip of the iceberg in marital adjustment. Most men never really realized how primitively they were living prior to marriage or learned how to deal with the problems that they never realized were problems. One of these is the “noise”. At some time shortly after marriage there will be a noise in the night. This noise was initially heard by Eve in the garden while poor Adam slept. She went to investigate and as we say the rest is history. However, since that time, women do not go to investigate mysterious noises – that is the man’s job. This noise always occurs shortly after the husband has dropped off to sleep. Of course the husband after a long day of toil could sleep through the San Francisco Earthquake, but women’s hearing is genetically different. A woman can hear cotton rubbing on silk from a distance of approximately a quarter mile and immediately conclude that this noise is due to a drug crazed burglar intent on stealing the --- well it really doesn’t matter what they were planning on stealing because it is the husband’s duty to frighten him away before that event occurs.

Now any man who has been through this knows that pretending to be asleep is fruitless because the dear wife will continue punching him in the back until he gets up and searches high and low for the source of the “noise”. The newly married man will commonly pretend to be asleep but this simply demonstrates his naiveté because it won’t work. The woman will continue beating on his back until blunt force trauma becomes a real possibility. The next male strategy employed by the newly married is to explain the noise as “nothing”, but this won’t work either. Women KNOW that something dangerous has occurred and the noise must be identified or there will be no sleep. Sleep can only be achieved by the husband getting out of bed, prowling throughout the house in his underwear, and then returning to bed and announcing – it’s nothing – go to sleep. Now the man who has been married long enough to have been through this drill a few times, simply gets up goes the refrigerator, gets something to munch on, opens the door, closes it, turns on a couple of lights, and then returns to the dear wife and announces it was nothing. The wife is now free to go to sleep knowing that the home has been protected, the noise identified (it was nothing), and she is secure in knowing that her man has once again saved the day. But I digress – let’s return to the topic of Television as a medium.

Television is certainly a source of entertainment as well as education. Not only do we learn about men and women, we also learn about medicine, nutrition, and exercise. From television I have learned that if you join the Bow Flex generation you will look like a superhero in just a few short weeks. Clearly Bow Flex sweat has regenerative powers because they all look so young and healthy. But that’s when I discovered that if you only eat Oatmeal your cholesterol will drop to astonishing levels. This has been demonstrated clinically using horses and not one had high cholesterol, although some people who have eaten oatmeal for extended periods did come to resemble a Quaker. I think it was the hat.

Can We Talk?

Well I guess I have always known that education has nothing to do with intelligence and that a person can have multiple degrees and still not be able to pour soup from a bowl with the instructions on the bottom. After all just look at that flower power reject with a PhD -- Ward Churchill – at the University of Colorado. He obviously has been able to prosper without ever actually having a job or learning anything meaningful about America or American Society. So in my defense I have actually had a job (several actually) that required me to control my budget and earn more than I spent. I have been able to earn some rather impressive certificates that hang on my wall while doing this. But unfortunately I still fall into the category of people – mostly men -- who are brilliant on the outside but dumb as dirt inside – at least according to my wife who is convinced I am not only dumb as a rock but unable to communicate even the simplest thought. . Naturally I deny this allegation while seemingly doing everything I can to corroborate it – but then I am a brilliant manager, leader of men, author, and all around deep thinker, so I can’t be expected to master all of the petty details of everyday living and to communicate with any clarity to those who simply don’t understand what I am saying.

This reflection on my ability to communicate all began with a simple request from my wife who wasn’t feeling well and asked me to prepare dinner. Something I have done in the past with results ranging from WOW to “what on Earth is THAT???” But I am always up for a challenge so I agreed to prepare dinner. It seems that the menu called for us to have London Broil but there was only one (large) available, so my wife, languishing on the couch like the final act of La Boheme, instructs me to cut it in half. Now before we go on – ask yourself – what would YOU have done given that simple request? If you are a man you probably would have reacted like I did. I simply took the cleaver and whacked the steak in half as neatly as if I had used the Guillotine, plunked it under the broiler and went on to step two – the rest of the meal, which to me means – the potatoes. Now I should point out that there is nothing in life that my wife and I agree on, especially our food. When we were first married I accused her of confusing seasoning food with cooking in the same room as the spice rack. But then we were young and I hadn’t yet learned the cardinal rule of marriage which is “you’re wrong!” – accept it. But to my point, she likes her meat rare – very rare – dare I say disgusting-- while I like mine done – crunchy even. So when I served my dinner of steak and potatoes I was confronted with gales of laughter – confusing to me because I thought I had done a pretty good job. But Au contraire , it seems the steak should have been cut horizontally into two smaller steaks, not whacked in half as if it were a cantaloupe. This prompted an immediate telephone call to our daughter so that the two of them could laugh about the complete ignorance of the male sex and their general lack of commonsense. It also provided the opportunity to discuss communication and the almost total lack of the sexes to communicate with each other.

Of course any man who has been married for longer than it takes to get to the end of aisle, knows communication between husbands and wives is actually a rather simple affair and there are certain communication rituals, which are learned early if the marriage is to get off the ground. The proper answers are – in no particular order:
Yes dear
No dear
Of course I love you
You do not look fat!
I don’t mind going shopping with you

Of course the last item is said with a smile while inside you’re thinking I would rather have my fingernails pulled out by a hungry Tasmanian Devil than shop for anything other than a new computer or really big TV. But for some obscure reason women insist that their husbands accompany them on these excursions to the supermarket.

Have you noticed that in the supermarket the men fall into specific groups. You have the single man shopping for himself. He is easy to spot because his basket is only partially filled and what’s there consists of various types of chips, soda pop, frozen pizza, a few frozen dinners, and maybe some bread and lunch meat. The emphasis is on speed and convenience without regard for nutrition. Then there are the married guys. These are the ones standing around with one hand on the cart staring off into space clearly wishing they were home watching curling or badminton, waiting for their wives to examine every single item in the aisle while searching through a stack of coupons. You feel their pain and can see that they have reached an out-of-body state bordering on comatose. Now everyone knows that shopping has to be done and that food has to be purchased and placed into the refrigerator, but why does that have to involve the husband? I asked my wife that because clearly neither I nor any of the other men I see in the market are doing anything other standing around staring into space. Her response to this question was “Training – all of you guys need training and all of us women are determined you are going to understand how hard our job is - so stay alert!” See – it’s all in the communication!

But as every man knows there are a lot of adjustments in a marriage. You get used to the idea that there are her things, our things but there are no “my things” other than your underwear and toothbrush. But it is the little things that act like grit in an otherwise smooth running machine, like the tooth paste. For example after years of arguing over the toothpaste and how it should be maintained, we now each have our own tube of toothpaste, which is zealously guarded. Mine is neat and trim while hers is squished and disgusting. I spent years in the Army and that training stays with you and to this day I can sleep in a bed without touching anything. When I get up the bed is almost undisturbed. In fact, I cannot sleep comfortably in a bed that is not tucked in. My wife on the other hand can get into a king sized bed and within 3 seconds can turn the entire bed into a mound of material that looks like the remains of a Laundromat after it was hit by a tornado. But we adjust – we all adjust to the little foibles of our mates – for example--it was my wife’s birthday.

Having already experienced the aftermath of several forgetful events I had learned that certain gift giving occasions have a great deal of meaning to women and birthdays are one of them. So on this particular birthday I was brimming with pride because I not only had remembered I had purchased a nice personal gift AND a card, plus a card from the children. But as the evening wore on my darling wife became less and less communicative and finally burst into tears. After some coaxing it seems that while I thought I had hit a home run I had in fact struck out because there was NO BIRTHDAY CAKE. Horrors! How could I be so callous and forgetful – unfortunately it was now almost 9 PM and all of the stores were closed except the nearby supermarket. I dashed out of the house and raced to the market determined to bring harmony back to our little home. But the market was closing and after some desperate pleading on my part, I was able to make ONE purchase but the bakery only had two cakes available. So I purchased one and dashed home – triumphant – bearing my cake like tribute to Caesar.

Well my wife opened the box and there it was – a beautiful white birthday cake suitably decorated with flowers and spring flowers at that. I was bursting with pride as if I had just slain the Dragon and saved my little Princess from durance vile. However, there was no joy in Mudville for I had once again struck out. My wife looks at the cake and ignoring my triumphant look once again bursts into tears and between sobs points to the offending cake and says “It says Happy Birthday Amy. Who is Amy?” “Well of course it says Amy” – I reply with all of my masculine logic – “what did you expect? That’s the only birthday cake they had – the other cake said Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad”. Well that stunning logic sort of brought the conversation to a halt and after a moment of reflection on my dedication and overall rising to the moment we were able to laugh and put it into perspective and since that time every birthday cake in our family says “Happy Birthday Amy”.

So in spite of everything the politically correct can do, the fact is that men and women are different. In spite of those who think they should be alike I think most people – especially those who have been married for a while – are glad of these differences because it brings spice and perspective. It is these little challenges and adjustments that make each day an adventure. Excuse me now, because I have to go and explain that the printer works best when the little light is on. It indicates that the power is turned on.