I wouldn’t call myself a feminist, but I am a spitfire kind of gal who thinks I can do whatever a man can do. I worked in a coal mine, for crying out loud. But I also admit defeat when it comes to some things that are typically saved for the dudes. Grilling, for one, is something I just can’t seem to master.
This messed up liberal philosophy of mine goes both ways, though. We say boys will be boys, but I believe there are some things best saved for the fine touch of a female hand. And these two personality types blend together perfectly when everything is in place and everyone sticks to their jobs. As my wonderful husband likes to say, “Teamwork makes the dream work.”
But sometimes, things don’t go as planned.
I recently had a short spell of illness that left me stuck at home for a few too many days, and my husband needed to take over the mom jobs as well as maintain the dad jobs. All in all, I couldn’t have asked for a better nurse (I’m all better now!) or caretaker. He did a great job keeping the kitchen clean and making sure I was alive.
And then I sent him to the grocery store.
After talking to other ladies I know about this situation, they all seemed to have a comment about sending their husbands to the grocery store and each of them can be summed up in a short sentence: Dad stinks at shopping. Without naming names, I know women who say their husband is a terrible shopper because if you send them for one thing, they come with 17 other things. Other women say no matter what they ask for, they always get the wrong items. Other women can’t believe the prices their husbands pay for things. And then there’s my story, where it all happens at once …
My dear, amazing husband told me he was going to the store for calamine lotion. “Is there anything else we need?” I replied slothfully from the chair that we also were out of bread and paper towels, and off he went. (Keep in mind he loves me and would do anything to make me feel better and I love him and would have him no other way.)
He came home with: too much, the wrong kind and name brand items. All in one shot. He brought home three types of calamine lotion and cotton balls, of which we already have two bags, a loaf of generic white bread, of which we never eat and name brand paper towels not purchased from a warehouse store. It was like the universe telling me I needed to rest and heal faster than ever or else we’d run out of money in no time.
But love is stronger than grocery bills. I’ll savor those fancy paper towels and upon feeling better you can very well guess what was my first destination out of the house.