I would love to tell you that I am one of those perfect men. You know, the guys many of us other guys secretly hate because they always seem to be there for their significant others. They'll do the cooking, cleaning, and shopping. With a smile on their face to boot. They never forget a date held in high esteem by their partners. Bad example setters IMO.
I have my moments when I am like these guys. But for the most part, I pretty much fall way short of the perfect man. I am not proud of this fact. Nor am I ashamed. I am what I am and well, there it is.
So my wife and I went out for Sunday breakfast yesterday. She had 2 appointments with tax clients later. One at 10 AM and one at 11 AM. Last minute tax panic from folks who always wait too long. Drives my wife crazy, but she makes good coinage from these people. Often getting paid twice. Once to extend the deadline and then again when the forms are finally filed later.
Regardless, tax season around my house is a bitch. I am used to it now. I realize that Bobbi Ann's frequent venting is not aimed at me particularly, but just her using me as a whipping boy. Part of the gig when married to an accountant.
As this tale is beginning to spiral out of control, I will get to the point.
Just as we get ready to enter the Sunny Side Diner, her cell phone rings. (Damn, I hate those things.) It is her 10 O'clock cancelling. Cooling her heels for an extra hour in town until her later appointment does not brighten her end of the tax season mood. Breakfast begins with that familiar feeling that I am in trouble again.
Out of the blue, and I do not have clue what came over me, I suggest we go grocery shopping. It was the "we" part that caught her short. Pretty much shut down the tax talk. I hurried along with the thought and said it would be a very productive use of that extra hour. My wife is productive if nothing else. The woman kicks ass in the efficiency arena. Made some serious points with that suggestion.
We hit Hannaford without the list and began shopping. Me pushing the cart and her with a wary eye on me to make sure I don't go juvenile and begin making motor sounds and screeching brakes sounds as I burn rubber turning into another aisle. As we cruise through each aisle I am impressed with how high food prices have gone. Seems that $140 we spent to just get essentials used to cost under $100 not so long ago.
The last aisle we hit is the personal hygiene aisle. Deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, and toothpaste. I remember that I am out of toothpaste. Bobbi tells me where to look for Crest toothpaste. Down at the end on the left.
Well, I was certainly surprised and confused when I found the Crest section. Not remembering just what type of Crest I had used last only made it worse. Facing me on 5 shelves stretching 6 feet or so was a wall of Crest toothpaste. There must have been 30 different kinds. Scope Crest, Super Scope Crest, Spiderman Crest, Barbie Crest, Tartar Crest in 10 varieties, whitening Crest in 10 varieties, 20 different Gels, striped, Baking Soda,.........................Lord help me I cannot make up my mind.
I just wanted some toothpaste. Basic stuff to rid my teeth of that nasty feeling and taste in my mouth from the previous day's activities. Yet here was a wall of choices with each one carefully presented to seduce me into a new direction for my dental care. I must have been there too long. Obviously frustrated by my hesitation, my wife reaches down and snatches one from the bottom row and says, "This is what you use."
Suddenly those wife points I had won over breakfast not an hour previous, melted away as if they had never existed. The perfect man would have remembered what toothpaste he used.