Thursday, February 17, 2005

A Note on Living with Women

I married my sweetheart in the sweltering heat of a Las Vegas June nearly 3 ½ years ago and thus entered into the twilight zone of living with women once again. It had been a glorious yet unfulfilling 14 years without women, and I guess I had forgotten the joys that accompany cohabitation with them. I wish now to share some of the overlooked perks that I came to appreciate as I once again shared my life with the fairer sex.


I had no idea just the quantity and volume of hair that gets shed in the normal woman’s bathroom. My experience was enhanced by the fact that I shared the facilities with not only my dear and kind wife but also by my equally charming stepdaughter. Hair was literally everywhere. My toothbrush. My suit coat. My wallet. My shoelaces. Not only did hair invade my world, but also a myriad of hair care products found their way to cause damage and destruction. I would inevitably find myself squinting and running for cover during the morning ritual of hairspray or looking confusedly at a drawerful of scrunchies, clippies, and hair thingies as my stepdaughter would hurriedly call for the accoutrement du jour so she wouldn’t be late for school. Oh, and then the wrath that I would endure if I somehow forgot to compliment my dear Helens on their haircuts. How dare I not notice the whopping ½ inch trimmed from their delicate coifs?

The Stuff

You know. The Stuff. Yes, that’s right. I am talking about that dreaded aisle in the grocery store or drug store that a single man rarely knows exists. Thankfully, my wife and stepdaughter are quite discreet about this kind of thing and rarely ask me to make the dreaded foray into this aisle, but, alas, it does happen. On one such occasion, I was simply asked to get the appropriate “stuff” for a lighter flow. Yes, I know the basic anatomical processes and figured I could get the “right stuff” but, as I entered the “Aisle of Supreme Male Confusion”, products and terms that I was simply not prepared to encounter, jumped right out at me. There were airplane-looking things complete with wings and parachutes and an array of different sizing options. I pretty much just eenie-meenie-minee-moed my way through the decision and quickly hid the item beneath my copy of Street and Smith’s College Basketball Preview. I then guyed up the purchase with some beef jerky, a Dr. Pepper, and a Hungry Man TV dinner lest anyone believe I was a chick.

The Remote

This seems like a pretty forthright subject. He who has the remote controls the TV and, in male single life, is obligated to change channels when a commercial comes on. I am very adept at this technique and find most men to be rather handy at this maneuver as well. Unbeknownst to me, this rule did not exist in my new household. In fact, all known and respected rules of TV courtesy were thrown out. Apparently, it is entirely appropriate to stop at a commercial if it is cute or funny or the guy in it is cute or funny or the woman in it is unattractive or too attractive or too plain. Really, any reason at all is grounds to halt the progression of channel surfing, often to never return to the original program. I have been told on numerous occasions, “We are not really watching anything, but we’ll let you know if something good comes on.” I am now plotting my capture of the remote for March Madness. I will let you all know how it goes.

That’s all for now.


Blogger Indigo said...

Yep, this is by far a fav!

8:59 AM  

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