Daddy's Cooking

Get this.  A recent survey of women across America revealed that 60% of married women admit (or believe) that their husbands are the superior chefs, and that most women don't like cooking at all.  60%?  60%!

Holy Guacamole, Batman! 

Actually, this does not surprise me.  The manopausal male is often relegated to the kitchen to sift through an assortment of boxes, cans, and vials and containers.  It may often be the case that the manopausal dude also does the bulk of the marketing (shopping) and that the wife finds herself in the traditional male role of complaining about dinner, asking questions like, "What is this supposed to be?" or "You call this a dinner?"

Yes . . . two cans and a box does make a dinner.  Or, if the woman prefers, it could be two boxes and a can.  Her choice.  But no complaints.

I like me when I'm cooking.  People tend to leave me alone with I'm playing with fire and handling sharp instruments.  And children tend not to bitch during the mixing and stirring.  It's after the cooking when a dad can get into trouble.  Especially if the evening slop has a chartreuse hue or if the top layer must be scraped off the evening fare to get at "the good stuff" down below.  Sometimes "the good stuff" is found only in the middle--like a Hasty Pudding--and the top and bottom layers are tossed outside as fertilizer.

But dad knows he's in trouble when his cooking kills moles.  They float to the top of the lawn like dead fish, flop on the grass for an evening, and then expire by morning.  Dad sort of blushes, realizing that his family consumed the same fare that eradicated the mole population in his, and the neighbor's, yards.  But it's a two-fer.

I can see why women don't want to cook.  They've been doing it for centuries and, after a while, they naturally want to branch out and try their nimble hands at chucking driveway gravel, or trimming their freshly polished fingernails with the business end of a chainsaw.  We will soon be meeting more women who wear eye patches and say, "Arrrrr, you scurvy dog, let me see you wax this deck until it shines or you'll be walkin' the plank before sunset!"

I hope I never see the day, but it's coming.  Tattoos come first, then body piercings, and then eye patches.

I'm keeping a close eye on my wife, believe me.  And I'm trying to improve in the kitchen.