The Grocery Store Hates Me

As a man, I am genetically predisposed to always fail when I am sent to the grocery store. I'm a pretty smart guy until I stroll through the automatic sliding doors at the local supermarket. It's almost as if the "woosh" sound I hear is not actually from the doors opening, but rather all capability for rationale and reasoning being wiped clean from my brain.

It's not that I don't want to do well. Really, I do...But for some reason that God will have to explain to me when I meet Him, I always forget something. Or I buy the wrong type of something. Or I get it wrong all together.

"What's this?"

"Lettuce. A head of lettuce...You wanted lettuce, right?"

"This is cabbage..."

"Oh..."

"It even says 'cabbage' on the plastic wrapper...How am I supposed to make salad?"

"Um...Cole slaw?"

Which would have been okay, if I had bought mayonnaise instead of Miracle Whip...

My trip usually goes something like this: She gives me a list and sometimes coupons. (By the way, men HATE coupons. We know it saves money, but it hurts our pride sometimes. But using coupons is public proof that we actually convinced someone to marry us. Kind of like buying feminine hygiene products. So, we let it slide). With list in hand, I enter the store. "Woosh" My mind is erased and I am reduced to blubbering pile of husband idiocy. I look down, and now all I have is a piece of paper with gibberish written on it.

So, the next hour is spent looking for things that I think she said she liked. But because of the constant funneling of Rod Stewart and Wilson Phillips through the store's PA system, I become even dumber. Now, I am just grabbing things at random.

Microwaveable burritos
Grape soda
Cat litter (we don't even have a cat)

And as I'm checking out in line, I start my defense in my head.

"I think some old lady swapped baskets with me by mistake. That's why there is so much Preparation H and denture adhesive." (in reality, I just got lost in the pharmacy aisles)

Or maybe I should just take it all back. But at this point, the checker, the bagger, and the family behind me are all staring at me like I just escaped from a mental hospital based off my purchases.

"Why would he need latex gloves, a tub of lard and a garden hose?"

No, I can't turn back now...So, I own it...And I proudly present my discount shopper card to the checker and say, "I do believe I just saved myself $.36 on that pack of pudding!"

When I get back to my car, I realize that I have made a huge error. And I know I will have to admit to my wife that she is right: I cannot go shopping by myself.

But, isn't that the key to a successful marriage? Being able to admit your weaknesses? That's one the reasons I love my wife so much. We truly do offset each other's short comings...She makes me better every day...

Vocabulary Confusion

One day, I was picking my two oldest up from their mother's house after they had been on a week long trip to California.  After they had buckled themselves in and we were on our way, I heard my 9 year old son say to my six year old daughter, "Ana, I can see your whale tail!"

Let me pause right here to explain something.  My ex-wife and I have obviously not seen eye to eye on a lot of things over the years.  But I never thought I would ever have to worry about a "whale tail" on my six year old daughter!  For those who may be confused, a "whale tail" is a term used when the top of a thong is visible from the back of a woman's pants...or a man's...I'm not here to judge...

After I heard this exclamation from my son, I almost lost control of the car.  "What do you mean 'whale tail,' Danny?"

"The one she got in California."

"Yeah, Dad," Ana chimed in.  "In California.  My mom got it for me!"

Frantically, I pulled my car into a gas station's parking lot.  I started fumbling for my phone.  I didn't even know who to call.  Their mother, to yell at? My wife, to vent to? My dad, to cry to?

I opened up the back door to the sedan.  I had to see it for myself.  And then I saw it!

Their mother had bought her a Sea World fleece pullover, which had a zipper on the collar.  On the zipper, was a tail of an Orca whale attached as a zipper pull. 

"See, Dad! It's my whale tail!"

So, now, we refer to it as her "whale zipper."

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Socks: A Wife's Kryptonite

When your wife's ability to be calm and collected and to make everything seem so easy is making you feel small and unworthy, do what I do: Leave your socks in the middle of the floor. Nothing will unglue the "put-together" woman faster than two dirty, crunchy socks on two separate sides of the room. It allows you to see that they are actually capable of losing it. 

But first, you have to test the waters to see how severe the reaction will be. When you step on the toe of your sock to take them off, and it makes that "wsssh" sound, and she perks her ears up like a dog hearing the clink of dry food hitting the food bowl, you know what's coming...But when you toss the sock from the tip of your toe to their designated place on the carpet, it's as if you just committed a war crime against an orphanage full of handicapped babies...The look of horror and anger that fills her face is glorious, as it affords you, the man, the opportunity to see someone so perfect, your wife, become completely unhinged.

Socks: The wife's kryptonite...

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Sallman State Penitentiary

Being a good parent is a lot like running a penitentiary for the criminally insane.

The first step is to provide a secure, furnished environment. Not only to protect the inmates from each other and themselves, but also to keep the public out of harms way. There is nothing more depraved or frightening than a mob of toddlers and elementary aged kids together approaching an unsuspecting mass of shoppers in the local Wal-Mart, recreating a prison riot scene from "Oz", while parents are sprinting after them like bondsmen trying to protect an investment(Ironically, many people at Wal-Mart actually look like the cast from "Dog the Bounty Hunter). But most importantly, it is to protect the prisoners from the influence of the outside world. It is impossible to provide a place for growth and personal development when the problems of society are bombarded upon someone who is so easily influenced into bad decisions.

Next, funding. The warden is responsible for not only making sure that there is enough money flowing in to maintain the programs and overhead required for a smooth operation, but also for spending the money correctly. Unfortunately, most of us don't have a child like Andy Dufresne from "The Shawshank Redemption" who can cook the books to launder money through the prison. So, we have to scratch and pinch and make cuts as it is needed in order to provide the bare necessities. 

The third step is basic human needs. Three hots and a cot, medical care, and occasional "yard time." Television is regulated. Good behavior over the course of their time may afford the inmate more responsibilities and more freedoms. Take the trash out, get an extra 15 minutes in the phone. Punishments must be swift but fair. Assault another inmate, get some time in "solitary". Extra duties may result in cash deposited into commissary (AKA allowance)

There are many more connections that could be made. But you get the picture....

The biggest task is just to make sure that when they leave your care after an 18 year stretch, they are as socially functional and well-behaved as possible. 

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