Things were pretty quiet in the kitchen this past week. Of course I ate out three times and fixed some prepared meals a couple of times and that helps. Oh there were the usual spills and goof ups of course. One morning I stumbled out to the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. I’ve been fixing it the night before so I just have to plug it in and turn it on when I’m 1/3 awake. Wait a minute! Did I just say, “…plug it in?” You get the idea. I went about my morning chores missing the perking sounds in the back of my mind. When I returned to the kitchen, the pot was cold and empty. I have a four-cup pot so it didn’t take long to perk a batch. It kind of made me mad, but at least it didn’t run all over the kitchen counter and floor, which it does if you forget the carafe. I know!
One of my favorite cartoon characters, Hagar the Horrible, recently climbed a mountain to get the meaning of life from the Elder Viking. He said, “Women think differently than men.” Hagar looked disgusted thinking, “Yeah, what else is new?”
That rang a bell with me because I finally realized that I don’t really understand how women think and I guess I never have. I started out at a disadvantage. My mother died when I was very young so I was left with my dad and three older brothers. I have always thought it would have been nice to have a mother or sister to talk to when I was growing up.
When I was about 13, my dad remarried and left, and I lived with my grandparents. Now, my grandmother was a nice woman and apparently been “something” when she was younger, but she was my grandmother for gosh sakes and she baked pies and darned socks, and I wasn’t going to talk to her about getting along with girls. So it was that part of my life education that was left out. It has been like doing calculus without knowing the multiplication tables.
If you wonder where I’m going with this, I’ve noticed a couple of times recently when I didn’t really understand what was going on with women and that makes it hard to operate in a mixed society.
Twice recently I’ve been standing in crowded fast-food places waiting to fill up my pop cup when a woman pushed right in front of me. These were mature women; not some pushy teenagers. What was puzzling and frustrating was they smiled at me as they pushed me out of the way. Should I have hip checked them against the condiment counter and filled my cup? I’m going to have to work on this some more. I’ll keep you posted.
When do people start referring to you as “elderly?” I don’t like that term. I guess I would rather be called “old.” When I hear elderly, I think of some cartoon character with a cane being helped across the street by a Boy Scout. I’m old; you can call me old. Alnada2704@gmail.com