Read Online A Walk in the Snark by Rachel Thompson - Free Book Online
Authors: Rachel Thompson
Ads: Link
and I had worked out long ago that the team approach works best for us. No traditional roles here. We both pitch in on most everything. (Except I don’t do doggie poo. As if.)
See, I’m not a chef. I make no claims to be. I get in and get out. Spit spot. JP, however, is a wonderful cook. I always tell my single girlfriends and daughter to “marry a man who can cook.” The flip side is that he uses every utensil, bowl, and pot known to man in the process.
I compare his cooking style to one of his favorite cartoon characters, the Tasmanian Devil. I can provide photographic evidence that the aftermath of our kitchen clearly reflects that.
When he’s finished creating his masterpieces of deliciousness, he will sit down with his port, put up his feet, and proclaim in his King of the Castle voice, “I’m tired”—which any wife, faced with The Battle of Gettysburg to clean up and in need of a vodka martini, knows is code for “I tried using The Force, but was unsuccessful,” after which he retires into quiet meditation.
Aka Monday Night Football.
Why does he have to use twenty-five pans to make three dishes? I’m just so confused. Is he marking his territory? (’Cause, dude, I’m kind of a sure thing.)
It was then that I suddenly realized: This is a Mancode issue of epic proportion and deserving of a rare exclamation point!
Are men from messy and women from clean?
I know I’m not the only chick who feels this way. My Twitter stream is bursting with tales of woe from wives, moms, and girlfriends with similar dirty-dish stories. The only exception is, of course, seemingly perfect single men (remember, my guy cooked and cleaned for me before marriage, too. Why do you think I was so impressed?). And gay men. You guys rock.
JP and I laugh about his M.A.N. Disease (Male Avoidance Neuroses) when it comes to not only dirty dishes but also replacing the trash bag, most anything having to do with laundry (he’ll start a load. Where it will stay. Forever.), and of course, entering the Refrigerator Zone (cue scary music).
But at some point the laughing has to turn into action.
His treatment begins tomorrow.
***
“ Men see a hot, naked woman & think, “I could totally tap that.”
Women see a hot, naked man & think, “I wonder if he can cook.””
I SPEAK WOLF
Taking the boy for a walk is not a chore. Putting the dishes in the dishwasher? Now that’s a chore.
Sometimes my guy looks at me like I’m speaking an entirely different language when I ask him if he can put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. I know. Crazy. And of course I hide things in the refrigerator and cupboard. It’s what we wives do.
We learned it early on in “How to Frustrate Your Husband School.” Riiiight.
Q: How many men does it take to change a toilet paper roll?
A: I don’t know. It’s never happened.
This Mancode thing has been good for my marriage. Sometimes I don’t understand the male species. This is well documented on my blog (you won’t three-point throw wet towels into the dirty clothes hamper that’s RIGHT next to you because they’re WET? Yeah, I’ll never get my mind around that one). And the TV remote ? Well, don’t even get me started (go read “ Universal Remote ” instead).
Clearly, I’m not alone. Um, have you checked out the relationship section of your local bookstore (or Amazon) lately?
If this is your first visit to RachelintheOC, you may want to peruse a few of my other Mancode articles.
The name came to me one day after I’d finally just had it, after eighteen years of marriage, with having to change the toilet paper roll. Again. Eighteen years of changing toilet paper rolls can kinda wear on a girl, you know?
So I did what any levelheaded, yet slightly fed up chick, would do.
I wrote about it.
A lot.
My husband and I have now reached a, shall we say, shorthand way of
See, I’m not a chef. I make no claims to be. I get in and get out. Spit spot. JP, however, is a wonderful cook. I always tell my single girlfriends and daughter to “marry a man who can cook.” The flip side is that he uses every utensil, bowl, and pot known to man in the process.
I compare his cooking style to one of his favorite cartoon characters, the Tasmanian Devil. I can provide photographic evidence that the aftermath of our kitchen clearly reflects that.
When he’s finished creating his masterpieces of deliciousness, he will sit down with his port, put up his feet, and proclaim in his King of the Castle voice, “I’m tired”—which any wife, faced with The Battle of Gettysburg to clean up and in need of a vodka martini, knows is code for “I tried using The Force, but was unsuccessful,” after which he retires into quiet meditation.
Aka Monday Night Football.
Why does he have to use twenty-five pans to make three dishes? I’m just so confused. Is he marking his territory? (’Cause, dude, I’m kind of a sure thing.)
It was then that I suddenly realized: This is a Mancode issue of epic proportion and deserving of a rare exclamation point!
Are men from messy and women from clean?
I know I’m not the only chick who feels this way. My Twitter stream is bursting with tales of woe from wives, moms, and girlfriends with similar dirty-dish stories. The only exception is, of course, seemingly perfect single men (remember, my guy cooked and cleaned for me before marriage, too. Why do you think I was so impressed?). And gay men. You guys rock.
JP and I laugh about his M.A.N. Disease (Male Avoidance Neuroses) when it comes to not only dirty dishes but also replacing the trash bag, most anything having to do with laundry (he’ll start a load. Where it will stay. Forever.), and of course, entering the Refrigerator Zone (cue scary music).
But at some point the laughing has to turn into action.
His treatment begins tomorrow.
***
“ Men see a hot, naked woman & think, “I could totally tap that.”
Women see a hot, naked man & think, “I wonder if he can cook.””
I SPEAK WOLF
Taking the boy for a walk is not a chore. Putting the dishes in the dishwasher? Now that’s a chore.
Sometimes my guy looks at me like I’m speaking an entirely different language when I ask him if he can put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. I know. Crazy. And of course I hide things in the refrigerator and cupboard. It’s what we wives do.
We learned it early on in “How to Frustrate Your Husband School.” Riiiight.
Q: How many men does it take to change a toilet paper roll?
A: I don’t know. It’s never happened.
This Mancode thing has been good for my marriage. Sometimes I don’t understand the male species. This is well documented on my blog (you won’t three-point throw wet towels into the dirty clothes hamper that’s RIGHT next to you because they’re WET? Yeah, I’ll never get my mind around that one). And the TV remote ? Well, don’t even get me started (go read “ Universal Remote ” instead).
Clearly, I’m not alone. Um, have you checked out the relationship section of your local bookstore (or Amazon) lately?
If this is your first visit to RachelintheOC, you may want to peruse a few of my other Mancode articles.
The name came to me one day after I’d finally just had it, after eighteen years of marriage, with having to change the toilet paper roll. Again. Eighteen years of changing toilet paper rolls can kinda wear on a girl, you know?
So I did what any levelheaded, yet slightly fed up chick, would do.
I wrote about it.
A lot.
My husband and I have now reached a, shall we say, shorthand way of
Similar Books
