Role Reversal

As a kid, I was raised in a pretty tradtional home in the sense that my dad did the "man" stuff and my mom did the "woman" stuff. You know, my old man would get under our broken sink and cuss at it for 45 minutes before he dialed a plumber, or my mom would bake a cake and cuss at it for 45 minutes before she would just go buy one at HEB. I'm just kidding about the part about my mom. She'd go to Albertson's. With my dad, any household "fix-it" issue was generally met by him with an elevated blood pressure level and a vocabulary that held an array of zingers within its verbal quiver should such an occasion arise. Honestly, I've never seen more inanimate objects called more names by any other person than my dad. I remember one time my old man hit his head on a cabinet door in the kitchen , as we're all destined to do at least once, and you could see the dawn of a storm brewing in the horizon of his eyes. It was as if my dad had a sixth sense to where he could literally look into the very soul of that cabinet door (or any other object over the years that he deemed "unfit") before he unleashed a tornado of words that could make that cabinet door weep, if that were possible. When one gets to the point where they believe a cabinet door is truly a tool of Satan, you've got "issues" and some time on a doctor's couch wouldn't hurt. This isn't the point, forgive me. This entry isn't as much about tempers as it is about masculinity, or the lack of it. Before anyone starts jumping to one side of the fence or the other here, I'm not trying to really say anything. Let me tell you about last night... Sarah and I went to Target and got an armoire and a slip cover for our couch. Our couch started out as an off-white khaki color but, over the past 10 years, it has taken on more of an earth tone. Anyway, we get home and Sarah is foaming at the mouth to get started on "her" project: Fighting with the slip cover? Nope. Putting the daggum armoire together. With my help? Are you kidding? No, I was working with the slip cover and she's over on the other side of the living room with her cordless drill, open toolbox, and an acetylene torch teaching that armoire who's boss. Meanwhile, I'm over here positioning pillows and tying bows on the slip cover as I survey our living room to make sure the position of the couch doesn't interfere with the Feng Shui. Huh? What the heck happened here? This is the thing, the assembly of the armoire wasn't even open for debate and honestly, I really wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Sarah's just better at this stuff than I am. When our toilet broke a while back, guess who fixed it? Yep, momma did. When we moved into our new house and had to have a new cord put on our dryer, guess who replaced it? Momma. This is my point: I'm not really good at the girl stuff either! With one hand Sarah can be fixing our carburetor and with the other making up a batch of killer oatmeal cookies! mmm...Oatmeal cookies. I guess, when it's all boiled down, Sarah rocks and I'm glad to have her. Although, I just can't help humming Paula Cole's "Where have all the cowboys gone" in my head when I look at this couch with its new slip cover. We're in the new millenium aren't we? The bra burners from yesteryear would be overjoyed to think this soft-handed neanderthal took a back seat to a hot chick with a cordless drill. I'm game!