I feel no end of amused affection for the male approach to domesticity. Unless you’re married to Bobby Flay, guys tend to have a stranger in a strange land thing going on in the kitchen that actually serves them well (“Where do we keep the spatula? Do we even have a spatula?”) Men know that appearing too comfortable around the pots and pans will only lead to trouble. Like magnified expectations.
To give you an example, Husband will pull a knife out of the block, cut something with it, give the blade a nice wipe on the dishtowel, and stick it back in the block. Maybe there’s some Palmolive in those knife slots I don’t know about, but I doubt it, so I wait for him to leave the kitchen and then wash the knife.
You may wonder why I don’t just ask him to wash it himself after he uses it, but I’m well aware I’ve been given a limited number of chips to redeem when it comes to criticism in this area and I save my stash for the larger issues. Like rinsing is not washing. Passing an orange juice glass under a tepid stream of water does not constitute pulp removal. Pulp’s job is to hang on for dear life with a force proportionate to the amount of time it’s been sitting around away from running water. Day-old pulp requires a blowtorch. We won’t even address hardened egg salad on plate rims. You see where I’m going with this and so does Husband. Now if only I could tell if you are as moved by my passion as he pretends to be.
Son took culinary classes in college and then worked in restaurants, so he seems to enjoy his kitchen and its accompanying utensils. One day when he came over to visit shortly after buying his own house, he picked up a measuring cup from my dish drainer.
SON: I could really use one of these.
OSV: A measuring cup?
SON: Do you have an extra one?
OSV: No, I don’t.
SON: You’re kidding. You have two of everything. You have around ten salt shakers.
OSV: And if you wanted a salt shaker you’d be in luck.
SON: (still holding the measuring cup) Can I have this one?
OSV: Then what will I use?
SON: Well, do you use it a lot?
OSV: Why don’t you just buy your own?
SON: Where?
OSV: Anywhere.
SON: Be more specific.
OSV: Oh, for God’s sake.
You’re probably wondering if I wound up giving it to him. If I did, it would mean that even though he no longer lives under our roof, he still knows how to manipulate me to get what he wants. Like when I used to tell him he could only play one sport a season because I couldn’t drive him to more than that, and he played like twenty and I drove him everywhere. I am not a trained seal. If you’re thinking of throwing me a fish you will be disappointed. But not very.
Daughter visited the Gold Coast Train Museum in Miami, Florida where she channeled
her inner Choo Choo Charlie
locomotive
lounge car
dining car
loo
sleeping compartment
all aboard!
FYI: Husband remarked after reading this entry that he is still easier to live with than I am. So noted.