After years of research, I’ve stumbled upon the REAL difference between men and women.
It’s not chick flicks vs. “Clash of the Titans.” It’s not Laura Ashley wallpaper vs. unpainted drywall. It’s not even the Great Home Depot Divide, wherein he flies straight to power tools and she drifts happily off to lamps.
For a long time I thought the canyon between men and women was filled with vitamins. I pop a Chewable C when I think about it, while my husband stocks up on every supplement and multi-vitamin known to man: B complex, zinc, Centrum, beta carotene, fish oil, flax oil, magnesium, Vitamin A… you get the picture.
But—surprise!--it turns out all my theories were wrong. (About men and women, I mean. I still suspect makeup contains some secret ingredient that’s wildly addictive. Why else would billions of women wear it every day?)
Back to the gender difference discovery.
On Easter night, Widdle and I decided to watch a DVD. (I can’t remember which one because my mind was in such turmoil. As you will see.)
Widdle likes popcorn, so he tossed a bag in the microwave while I rooted around searching for my hearing aid. Then the dog, She Who Rules, had to go outside. Finally we got settled on the sofa.
Widdle munched happily on his buttered popcorn. Seconds before he pressed “play,” he glanced at the box and said, “This is really good—considering it expired in May 2008.”
He kept crunching contentedly as I shook my head like a dog after a bath. Then I tapped the hearing aid with my fingernail.
“This thing is distorting sound,” I said. “For a second there, I thought you said the popcorn expired two years ago.”
“Yup,” he said calmly.
“Are you crazy?” I cried. “This morning I tossed butter that expired Thursday.”
“I know. What a waste,” he said.
And there you have it: I won’t eat anything 30 minutes past its prime, but if it’s not A) blue or B) bulging, Widdle will chow down.
“Are your affairs in order?” I asked. “For when the popcorn kills you.”
“Yeah, you get everything,” he chortled. (We both know I don’t.) “Look, here come the previews.”
I couldn’t describe three scenes from that movie, what with getting up every five minutes to check his pulse. Then I started imagining how sad life would be as the Widow Widdle. By the time the movie ended I was in a state of nervous collapse.
“That was pretty good,” Widdle said.
“What, considering it was filmed in 2008?” I snapped.
“No, considering the hero came back from the dead like Lazarus,” he said coldly.
“That won’t work for you,” I pointed out. “And if you do die from that popcorn, everyone will think I poisoned you.”?“Imagine that,” he sighed.
Then Widdle sat me down and shared his little secret: He’d been eating expired meat, frozen foods, bread, cereal, salad dressing, rice, pasta, oil and M&Ms, for 55 years.
“The expiration date is just a suggestion,” he said, smugly.
I made a few suggestions of my own, which can’t be discussed here. Eventually I got worn out and went to bed.
I was about ready to expire myself.
Julie R. Smith, who will ask how old your eggs are before she eats at your house, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.