Guy World

My husband often refers to himself as “a prince among men,” and if truth be known, he really is pretty terrific. However, as perfect as he is, his way of doing things is often very different from mine. And, on occasion, we discuss the subtleties of our approaches. I thought I’d share with you what I’ve learned about guy ways vs. the right way (oops! I mean girl ways).

Guy Driving
H and I had several errands to run last week, and on at least one occasion I offered to drive. Once in the car, I started the engine and backed out of the garage and off we went – or at least I thought that’s what we did. However, before the garage door had lowered H let out a loud chortle and announced, “Here’s the difference between guy driving and your driving. When I get in the car, I push the button (he has a keyless starter) and go. You, on the other hand, put lotion on your hands, play with the buttons, move things around, tidy up and do a little housekeeping, all before you even put the key in the ignition.” Hmmmm – I don’t remember quite so much activity, although I did think my hands warranted some moisturizer. However, I wasn’t really paying attention to myself.

Guy Grocery Shopping
H claims that men are much more logical and focused in how they hunt and gather. Their shopping lists are written in order of aisle sequence. They start at one side of the store and move in the opposite direction, up and down the aisles dropping items in the cart as they go. No zig-zagging; no aisle hopping; don’t let the endcaps fool you into bouncing from point B to F, D, Z and back to M; no backtracking (it’s counterproductive). I’m not sure what to do if you miss an item. I guess you add it back into the list for next week and hope it wasn’t an important recipe ingredient. Most of the time I shop for groceries alone, but on those occasion when “the prince” accompanies me, I try to make the list short, stay focused and keep the pace at a good clip. If I’m successful, I usually get a lot of praise – always good for the self-esteem.

Guy Clothes Shopping
I will say that I am in awe of H’s clothes shopping techniques. He is in and out of a store in less than ten minutes. He assesses a shirt in seconds and sprints back to the register with his selection, grabbing a package of undies (referenced on his iPhone for quick identification -- see above) and socks along the way. Never once does he try anything on and everything always fits when he gets home. I really try to follow his lead, but unfortunately I can spend an hour in a store trying on the same shirt, different colors, over and over trying to make a decision. Shoes are even worse.

My husband is ever hopeful that I can learn from him. On our last trip to Sears, H looked at me and pointed his fingers towards his eyes and then straight ahead to the appliance section, chanting “Focus! Focus! Focus!” I laughed and followed dutifully, but I slowed long enough to touch a couple of sweaters along the way.

Easter Joys

There’s nothing more delightful than to hear my Dutch husband – 60 years old, mind you – calling out from downstairs on Easter morning, “The Easter Bunny was here!” From the sound of his voice I know he’s excited. Sure, there’s a basket for him on the dining room table, but I know that it is the decorated table itself that has made him so happy.

I am fascinated by how family customs are so different. When we were kids, my sisters and I loved Easter morning. We opened our sleepy eyes to crinkly cellophane-covered baskets stuffed to the brim with goodies, sitting on the dresser next to our beds; a spirited egg hunt at home after church; and an Easter dinner fit for a king. Until I met my husband, I never knew what an Easter table was. For H and his siblings, the surprise of Easter morning began with a beautifully set table filled with platters of meats, cheeses and breads, soft-boiled eggs in fanciful egg cups, orange juice and a pot of tea, all dressed out on an heirloom yellow tablecloth. Small candies decorated the table; a small chocolate-filled Easter basket awaited each child.

Keeping these memories in mind, I have tried to meld both of our family traditions into our own. The week before Easter I begin gathering supplies, hiding them in closets my husband rarely frequents. I iron his aunt’s hand-embroidered tablecloth, wash my mother’s china, fill H’s basket, and dust off the few Easter things we have collected together. On Easter morning I get up early – making the excuse, when asked, that P the cat is calling for his breakfast, as if H really believes that – and head downstairs to set the table. An hour later I hear a shout of surprise and a lot of laughter. And, of course, we both pretend like we don’t know how any of this happened. It’s a terrific way to begin a joyful day.

I hope your Easter was just as wonderful!