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Women & Sandwiches

Posted by on June 14, 2013

This morning began with the Smokin’ Hot Wife, my six year old son, my five year old son, my four year old son, my two year old son and myself in bed. And our chihuahua. The hilarity and fun of it made me think …

“How crappy would my life be if I had married someone else?”

With that deep thought, I bring you The Tale Of The Girlfriend & The Sandwich.

Sixteen years ago I’m at my then girlfriend’s apartment. She had bought one of those pre-fab cabinets (Did you know “IKEA” is Swedish for particle board?) and I was putting it together for her. She asked, “What can I do to help?”

I realized it was a one person job and there was nothing she could do to help, so I replied, “No, thanks, babe. There’s really nothing.”

She asked again, “No. Really. What can I do to help?”

I thought to myself, “I’m hungry,” so I said to her, “Would you make me a sandwich?”

Or at least that’s what I thought I said. What she heard was, “Yo, she-witch. Know your role and shut your mouth. Get your barefoot, not-a-man bein’ self in the kitchen and make me some grub. Pronto!” She got up in a huff and left the room. No sandwich but plenty of huff.

During the remainder of our time together as a couple (or if Facebook was around then, “in a relationship’), she repeatedly replayed this scenario to me. With every performance — and yes, it reached “performance level” by the fifth retelling — my overbearing sexist level of evil steadily increased.

I questioned myself. I asked a mutual friend, Caroline, “What did I do wrong?”

She said, “Beats me. I would have made you a sandwich.” It should be noted that I once installed an air conditioner in a second story window for Caroline, so I was pretty sure I had her vote.

I told the ex what Caroline said. The fact that I assumed this would help the situation shows how little I knew about women.

A few months later we broke up and I assume she still has that cabinet. I never got that sandwich.

I bet as I type this my ex is standing next to a guy in line at a vegetarian food co-op, both of them wondering why they don’t subscribe to Mother Jones instead of buying it at the newsstand. Suddenly she blurts, “Do you believe it? He asked for a SANDWICH!!??”

Two things:

#1. I love my wife. She is God’s gift to me.

#2. Sometimes a sandwich is just a sandwich.

Keep It Old School, My Friend

The Old Man

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