I loved this post by Stephan Kinsella: "Another suggestion: if you are leaving the house with wife and baby in tow, and the wife pulls your wedding ring out of her pocket, saying, "so, why aren't you wearing THIS?", don't say, "Look, I'm walking your two poodles on pink leashes, I've got the baby in a Baby Bjorn carrier on my stomach, I've got a Brighton diaper bag over my shoulder--just how married do I need to look?'" Several days later, this picture came into my head, out of nowhere, causing me to laugh out loud. My companion at that time had to say, "What are you laughing at?" Try to explain that one.
Stephan, watch out, for you will have others reading this and telling you that you are being made the victim of some feminist plot to subvert your authority as a man. Whip that woman and make her carry the kid darnit! :^)
It reminds me of just how funny male-female interactions can be when we pay attention to them, and have enough of a sense of humor to point them out and make light of them. But watch out; when you try to make fun of this stuff, you'll get hate mail from the stick-up-the-butt crowd that says "How dare you!"
It reminded me of a similar, funny story of mine from three years ago. I had just had an awful shoulder joint reconstruction, and my folks flew into town to take care of me for two weeks. My Dad, bless him, in his late 70s, was an angel. Here I was, post-surgery, in a Total Zombie state, wearing this 2-piece, thick plastic, body armor suit (immobilizer) from the waist up, with my right side tied down and immobilized, for two weeks. Dad was devoted to taking care of his little girl, doing everything for me, including having to drive me around once I started being able to leave the house.
So we'd run errands together, shopping, etc., leaving Mom at home because she couldn't walk too far. I had no way of carrying a purse, so Dad - very reluctantly - did that for me. Now, my Dad is old-school, an old-world gentleman in every sense of the word, looks like a movie star with hair like Ronald Reagan's and a perfectly-straight posture, and at 6'1" and 225 lbs. he's the burly, flannel-shirted, lumberjack type to boot, with forearms the diameter of a telephone pole. He's built like a bull from the waist up.
So Dad lets me know he's not going to let me carry my own purse because I shouldn't be doing anything right now; he will carry it. I pictured Dad carrying that thing and said "No Dad, that's alright, I can do it," knowing it would kill him to be seen dangling my purse around Sam's Club for an hour, and then Home Depot after that.
So Dad overrules me, and takes my purse - a ritzy, gold-trimmed, feminine-as-all-heck, Coach leather purse. As we get into the store, I'm watching him switch the purse to various positions, looking for the best way to clutch this ladylike purse in public - on his arm, in his hands, clutched like a watermelon, and every position possible. I watched carefully; he was clearly embarrassed but, of course, not a complaint would come from him. We got to Home Depot, and again, he took my purse. We were going through the electrical department, 'cuz Dad was going to do some work on my house. I started parading up and down aisles at breakneck speed, as youth will have it, and Dad fell off the back, purse in hand, all alone, circling the store with this purse.
When I caught up to him, I noted his face appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable, sorta embarrassed, and I realized that he thought of himself walking through Home Depot, alone, carrying this purse. I said "Dad, I can carry it." "No, no, you can't bear any weight, so just let it be," he replied. From then on, he told me "Walk slower. Your old man isn't as fast as he used to be," and I figured that was a "seen alone with my purse issue," so I obliged.
This went on for several days, with dad and my purse, and I felt terrible thinking he felt kinda funny, you know, being from the real, macho old school and all. Lumberjacks and Bulls just don't carry purses.
So one day, I figured out how to trip him up, you know, pull one over on him - without him knowing. Just like I did when I was a teenager, drinking from his (expensive) scotch, cognac, and wine bottles, and filling them back up to the same level with water, so he "wouldn't notice" anything was missing. Kids are clueless that Dads know when their good whiskey and fine wine has been watered down five different times. Oops.
But anyway, we were headed back to Home Depot, and I wanted to save him from yet another 'electrical aisle moment.' I dug up an old fanny pack from the basement, circa-1980s, ugly as heck with a brown, suede patchwork design (did I really wear that once?!), and next time we went shopping, I put my wallet and phone in the fanny pack and said, "Oh really Dad, this will be easier for me. I like to wear fanny packs." When he left the room, my mother was chuckling her butt off, saying, "He looks happier already knowing he's at least getting rid of the purse...."
Dads will go to the end of the earth for ya. Bless 'em.
