Today my lovely husband has written a blog post for me. Let me add – I had no input at all into the topic, he chose it all on his own. He was curious about blogging, and I’m sure he’ll be back for another go sometime soon. Enjoy!
Women. Am I right? Men. Oh don’t even go there! When did the human race become so into stereotyping? Let’s go back in time for a sec. Let’s just say July 18th, 1952. The time is 4:38pm AEST and its slightly dry. Not so dry that your mouth feels like the surface of a sealed road but slightly more moist than that of a moon rock and figure out where the battle of the sexes began!
If you look at any period piece movie around that time you will see a shorter than average blonde lady baking a blackberry pie whilst she sings Moon River with a cartoon blue bird. Now we all love Andy Williams, but this is ridiculous!! We go up to this woman. Let’s call her Carolyn. “Hello” we would say in a cheery (if not slightly annoying) fashion, in which she would respond (turning in slow motion, of course) “Why hello there, my darling! You look absolutely wonderful. Your eyes are like moon stones and you have a smile that is so infectious I just want to cut you a big slice of homemade pie and talk about mopping floors”.
She would stand there. Her face would be without wrinkles and her teeth would blind you. Thankfully we are all wearing ray band sunnies to shield us from what appears to be the surface of the sun. Oddly we stand there, not knowing what to do and ask this woman “We were just wondering where we could find your husband?” This lovely woman steps back, allows one of the cartoon blue birds to perch on her ever so slim finger and replies “Why, my dear, Harold is in the tool shed, tinkering around with all sorts of gadgets! I can’t tell you exactly what because the outside is no place for a woman”. She then leaps like a cartoon princess and continues to duet with this blue bird. We’ve now gone from Andy Williams Moon river, to singing Frank Sinatra’s my way.
Oh. My. God.
Now before we go any further let’s just come to terms with what we’ve just been through. Perfect stereotyped woman of the 50’s, a beautiful (if not a slightly annoying and unrealistic) blue bird singing two crooner classics, a fresh out of the oven blackberry pie, and to close the scene, the crooner classic… My Way. This picture I have created for us is obviously an exaggerated movie scenario that would most likely star Deborah Kerr.
Let us for a moment briefly explore what most likely would have happened. Harold comes home after a long hard day building white picket fences and mending kites for young neighbourhood kids. He walks in reeking of cigar smoke and says (after the standard ‘honey, I’m home’ routine) “I’m going down to the races with a few buddies. Will be a couple of hours!” Carolyn accuses him of spending too much time with his friends.
Now, this may or may not be the case, but for the purpose of this scene, let’s just say it is. A huge fight erupts and he throws into the argument the usual lines “I work all day, I just need to relax!” and “I never called you fat, just not as slimming as you were in 1948!” Bad move, Harold. Bad move.
Now I don’t know about all of the guys out there but I know when my wife and I have a disagreement all she has to do is pull the sad eyes and I’m done for. Harold decides to stay, but in a furious tantrum he storms out to his tool shed and slams the door. Enter us. We see the sun lit kitchen with a great big, honking huge, calorie filled, heart stopping any second, yet irresistibly tasty Blackberry pie! Now I don’t know what all of you may be thinking, but to me, I see two words. COMFORT FOOD.
Let’s wrap this up. An hour has passed and Harold has smelled the inviting scent of the pie that has been perched on the window sill. There is no cartoon bluebird because in actual fact if a singing blue bird got within ten feet of this pie, Carolyn in her blind rage would have ended its singing days with one of her saucepans. Or spatula, you know, whatever is closest. He walks in to find that three quarters of it has been eaten by our lovely young heroine. She has graciously left him the last quarter because let’s face it; it’s just a nice thing to do. He grabs a fork, sits down with his adoring wife and eats it.
There is a simple equation that goes with a man and wife fighting. This is;
Woman fights + Man fights = huge fight / divided by how long they are separated (recommended to be at least 30 minutes) + awkward silence (generally 60 seconds) + digesting the fattiest food available = happily ever after.
The equation: 1 + 1 = Y / 0.50 + 0.01 + X = Z
I know that when my wife and I argue we have a short series of steps.
- We argue
- I go out to cool down
- I bring back chocolate
- We eat the chocolate together
Its surprises me that we (as a human race) haven’t become extinct from global obesity. Let us all from now on accept the fact that no one ever wins. We just go out and comfort eat instead. We can go on thinking that we are all that. But let’s face it… We all know that the end of the road either lies in a confectionary aisle of a supermarket or Carolyn’s kitchen. We can continue on with our ways of stereotyping each other but again let’s face it… Eating a pie with a cartoon blue bird is the way to go! Unless it sings Bieber. Then you have my full support to wrap a saucepan around its beak!
As a courtesy, here is the recipe for a stunning black berry pie! Think of our adventure when you eat it!
Much love! T
- 4 cups of blackberry
- ½ cup white sugar
- ½ cup of all-purpose flour
- 1 recipe pastry for a 9 inch double crust pie
- 2 tablespoons of milk
Picture “borrowed” from taste.com.au
- ¼ of white sugar
Storm In A B-Cup 