WHO AM I?
I am a husband. The women in my wife’s weekly knitting circle, cover the relationship spectrum: women who are married, a divorcee, a widow, one LGBT and one “old maid”.
In this group, the word “husband” is more normally associated with the words: “gutters”, “sofa”, "recycling" or “track lighting” than with the term “French Tickler”.
Why am I not surprised? My beloved wife and I have been married 40+ years and in all those years my weekly “honey do” list, generated by my winsome wife, has not once included “do honey”. And worse, almost weekly these gals shake their heads and lament that the men in their lives have all sagged to late middle-age entropy and are no longer exciting! But, what they count as “exciting” is never sexual.
I’ve asked my wife. She says sex never comes up. I’ll bet.
What is a "hot topic" in the knitting group is lamenting that the men won’t re-face the kitchen cabinets, re-paint the kitchen, or deck the attic floor! And, they can’t drag them to Sheep&WoolCon.
For myself, this is frightening. I am not competent with carpentry. I am a guy who posted on Facebook a photo of the hole in the bedroom ceiling I punched when I stepped off of a rafter in the attic.
Thankfully, my “get up and go” hasn’t “got up and went”. I speak a little French. (Wink, wink.) And, I like to dance. Never underestimate the magnetic power of good Swing Dance or Texas 2-Step.
WHY AM I HERE?
You men out there, consider this a warning flag. Apparently it gets worse. When couples divorce or the husband dies, sex and home repair apparently are the MOST sought after!
The divorcee of the group affirmed that middle-aged men on internet dating sites she frequents, the ones who can talk about re-facing cabinets are THE most sought after.
WHAT DO I WANT?
I wanted to be a vigilant husband. Observant. Defiant. I do not to step into personal adaptation. Adaptation to the ordinary, the day-to-day, the common, the boring for me!
I do not want to join the species of middle-aged husbands who are known by their most favorite flannel shirts. They are the routine of the day. These men in plaid flannel are the "albatrosses", hanging around the neck of the women in the knitting circle.
Our former Italian teacher stopped by the knitting group last Sunday afternoon just to visit. So, I came downstairs from ironing my flannel shirts.
The topic slipped quickly to the teacher’s husband who would not let her go to Italy alone for three months! Then, all the women piled on!
And, the piling on was unsportsmanlike. Words and accusations were thrown about: Was it fear that an Italian lover would sweep her away? Or fear of eating his own cooking? Or was he simply a middle-aged slug?
I didn't interrupt but slimed my way back upstairs.
(C) Copyright 2018, Jean W. Yeager
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