Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Men Might Be Needier Than Women

For years I've thought that it's easier for a woman to adjust to being single than it is for men. Men, on average, are needier than women. The real trick is we don't want them to know it. Since my ex-wife(see blog 12-15-13) left for Texas on January 6 to help her brother recuperate from a hip replacement(he's needy, too) I've been living in what could honestly be referred to as a slime hole, aka a comfort palace. Granted, there are some guys who aren't this way. They are called 'Neat Niks'. My youngest son is a 'Neat Nik' When he was in first grade he ironed his own shirt collars so they'd look good. My son, the father of three and with another on the way is so neat he has been accused of being gay. My next door neighbor is another neat person. He'll make a nice meal for himself, one where actual cooking takes place and then as soon as he's finished he'll wash and dry the dishes. And get this, he actually puts the dishes away in a cupboard. He will clean up any crumbs that might fall on the floor. My thought is, "Why"? Doesn't breakfast arrive a few short hours later? Let the garbage lie there and clean it when it's convenient. That's what most guys would do if they were alone. A meal, for me, is not something to be enjoyed. It's a fuel. I won't eat dinner then ask myself, "My, wasn't the oregano tasty on the spaghetti". My menu, since the wife left, is this: milk for breakfast, tomato soup and crackers for lunch and chicken patties for dinner. They're easy to cook. If it can't be cooked in the microwave I don't want to eat it. You may not believe this but there are tons of men out there reading this blog who are saying, "I wish I could be like this guy".
I returned from an eleven day vacation in Florida on January 19 and dropped my suitcase on the bedroom floor. It's still there. I'll get around to hanging clothes when I feel like it. I did remove dirty laundry and plop them in the washing machine. I mean, when it comes to dirty underwear I do have my standards.
My wife makes the bed every day. There was a time when I would do it for her but I learned that if it's not made the way she wants she'll rip it apart and start over. She likes the sheets tucked in. I don't. Making a bed and cleaning dropped crumbs after dinner have their similarities. If I don't clean dropped food why make a bed? After all, I'm going to be using it twelve hours later. Plus, I don't bring friends into my bedroom so who would know.
Our garbage men come every Wednesday. Nowadays containers are provided for garbage. I forgot to take it out last week. No problem for me. Even though it was full of smelly stuff it'll keep until today.
Wives are important because, even though we men don't want to admit it, they keep us on our toes, especially when it comes to house cleaning and clothes and making your home look presentable. I think most men who are slobs are this way, not because they want to be, but because cleaning isn't fun. Men like fun things. Mowing a lawn can be fun. Shoveling snow isn't. We had snow last night; about four inches. Most of the men in our neighborhood have shoveled already. I'll give the guys hired by the condo association another couple of hours to do their job. I'd run right out and do it except there's nothing fun about shoveling.
Okay, I have my plan worked out for house cleaning. I'm leaving for Texas next Sunday to pick up the person who runs this place. I figure, if my schedule is right, beginning tomorrow afternoon I'll be able to clean the kitchen, vacuum the rugs, wash the dishes and throw everything in the washer and dryer that's possible. The garbage will be in my neighbors trash bin and I'll be on the road two days later.
When we do arrive back in Ohio the little lady, whether she believes it or not, will say, "My the house sure looks nice". I've worked forty-four years to get to this position in life. If I do slightly better than what's expected I can't go wrong and I'm a mini-hero.
One more tidbit for you. This blog might be worthy of a Bros. Grimm fairy tale, especially in my own mind.

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