I am not sure why men can’t listen to what you say to them. I mean, I make eye contact, I move my mouth really slowly just in case my hubby is actually deaf and has somehow managed to get through life reading lips and it is discovered one day and everyone goes “wow that is an amazing story” and they make one of those mini movies they send around to your email with music and fluffy kitties and people pretend they have something in their eye while they type in the names of 343 of their closest friends to send it on to so that they don’t die a horrible death, lose all their money or have a loved one die in a car crash.  You don’t want to pass on having something incredible happen in exactly 34.3 minutes.  I also worry about whether someone makes his life story into a movie … “Alan Keller” and he comes off looking like a complete saint and because every movie, no matter how short, needs a villian .. . They identify me.  So I speak very slowly ….

I said, “Get the cereal that has the granola clusters … NOT the flakes.   See they are almost exactly the same box and almost the same cereal but they are not.  One has flakes.  One doesn’t.   Say NO to flakes.  Do you understand? “  and I showed him a picture of both cereals from a flyer AND the empty box of the actual cereal that I wanted.  “Do you have it, or do you want to take some notes or something?”

He waved me away with his hand and said something about having better things to do and did I think he was stupid.  I used to answer that question but then he told me it was a rhetorical question and there was no need to answer.  I answer anyway … in my head.  In my head he never talks back.  It is easier that way … for everyone.

He left for the grocery store.

I know,  what the hell was I thinking??? But every once in awhile, usually after either a couple glasses of wine, great sex, or a shot of morphine, I get really euphoric and think anything is possible.  Oh,  and  I love everyone.  I can’t really share what actually happened to cause this particular moment because I signed court documents promising to stop discussing our sex life in these blogs.

I know, I Know … you already can see what happened.

He sooo came home with flakes.

Yup .. and I am like .. “WTF? What are these?”

He is like .. “Cereal,“ ’cause he is quick like that.

And I am like, ” But I told you clusters, NOT flakes?”

‘”No you didn’t.”

‘”Yes I did?”

” No you didn’t.”

” Yes I did.”

And then, he  takes the box out of my hands and says, “Let me see,” and he actually squints his eyes and reads the ingredients like the big picture on the front of the box with the flakes falling into the bowl are confusing him or something. So he hands me back the box and says “I can’t see the difference.”

“Umm …well you see this?”  I was pointing to the picture on the box he bought, “THIS is a flake.  Note the flat, flakey shape? And this thing on the box  I wanted,  that is all round and big and NOT flat or flakey like? THIS is a cluster.”

He shrugged.  Like a “who cares” shrug … and I am like “you did NOT just shrug at me.”

And he is like, “Well I don’t see what the big deal is.”

And I go, “None!! No big deal at all! And I am sure you will enjoy eating these for breakfast and then going back to the store and getting me my clusters.” And I pulled out the bread mixing bowl and dumped the whole box in it, poured milk over it and got him some honey.  “Open,”  and I placed a heavy laden spoon full of flakes in his mouth.

So he comes to me later and asks if he can ask a question and I say, “no.”

He asked anyway because men just keep talking even when the evidence indicates they should make another choice.   He was fearless.  No sense of the dark doom stalking him in our kitchen.  I suppose to be fair, I  wasn’t facing him when I said it so legally, in a court of law, he could make a case for he didn’t hear me.  Unfortunately my rules seldom concern themselves with boring details like legalities.

“What do you have against flakes?” he asked, treading over the dead bodies of fearless angels . . . most of them men.

“They taste like something grandpa used to feed the cows.”

” Well how am I supposed to know that, I have never tasted cow food.”

“Yes you have.”

” Nope never.”

I picked up his uneaten bowl of cereal and pointed to the flakes and the little dingy grey pellets fighting to stay afloat in a sea of milk, “Cow food! BTW you have to finish that before you can go to golf.”

He thought about it for a moment, “You ate the cow food at the farm?”

“NO this smells like the cow food did?”

“How do you eat a smell?”

I gave him the look and he shrugged again and said I was being ridiculous. I don’t think he appreciated my mooing at him as he walked away.

See, this is why I like the idea of using hand puppets when trying to explain things to men.  Not only can you simplify communication and illustrate your point, you have the added bonus of having your middle fingers of both hands extended at all times.  I think expecting them to understand words is just too big a stretch.