Being single I probably miss out on a few of the little things in life. Like sitting on the bleachers rooting for my husband’s softball team. Or hearing my wedding song on the radio.
Once in a very great while I fleetingly think, “gee, that would be nice.” But usually, almost as soon as that thought crosses my mind, I witness a man doing something that causes me to thank my lucky stars that I don’t have to live with one.
Today, it was shopping.
I went shopping to accessorize the bookcases in my newly organized “writing nook.”
(I felt a bit like I was on an episode of Design Star using the term “accessorizing.” I even gave myself a budget, which I blew almost entirely on one shelf. I failed the challenge, but my nook looks great!)
As I wandered around Target looking at baskets and boxes and pen cups, I happened upon a couple in the candle aisle.
The woman was sniffing candles, comparing colors and sizes. Every time she picked one up, she’d hold it out to the man for him to smell too.
After a few rounds of candle sniffing, he told her to just pick her favorite.
He was clearly growing bored with candles, but she kept going. Finally he let out a big sigh and asked, “Don’t they make a barbecue sauce scented one?”
The look on the woman’s face matched exactly what I was thinking. “Why would anyone want a candle that smelled like barbecue sauce?”
Men clearly don’t appreciate a nicely scented home.
In the next store three men, who I assume had abandoned their wives or girlfriends in search of adventure greater than glassware and cutlery, were huddled around a giant, multi-gallon plastic keg with a spigot on the front.
They were discussing on great detail what they could do with such a wonder.
“We could fill it with Bloody Marys,” one said.
“Yeah, and keep it right in the fridge so they’d stay cold,” another added.
“We could attach long straws and drink without having to leave our chairs,” the last chimed in.
“Dude.” They all high-fived, looking as so proud you would have thought they had discovered the key to world peace.
Not having a wedding song is a small price to pay for being able to avoid shopping with a barbecue sauce sniffing, Bloody Mary guzzling man.