Of Crockpots and Men

So there I was, minding my own business, fresh out of the shower, naked, and reading the sports section. As I was sipping on my coffee, contemplating the day’s smorgasbord of football games, my neighbor walks by the window and sees me standing there in all of my natural gory…err…I mean glory. She immediately starts shrieking at me to put down her paper and get off of her porch. Since we go through this every week, you’d think that by now she would be used to this ritual. Anyway, my attorney advised me not to talk about this until the court proceedings are over, so I’ll move on.

So there I was, minding my own business, going through my other neighbors’ fridge, when they unexpectedly came home for lunch. I have to say that their reception was very un-neighborly. Some people are just rude that way. Things really got heated when I suggested that they splurge a little and buy the name brand condiments rather than those super-saver ones. I mean, if I wanted the cheap stuff, I would just eat at home. Oh, wait a sec, Mr. Stuffed Shirt Attorney just informed me that litigation is still pending on that little misunderstanding, so I better save that tale for later.

Ok, how about this one…

So there I was, minding my own business, walking into the local Super/Megalithic/Larger-than-a-small-country/Walmart, when I heard a distraught husband pleading with his wife, "Honey, can’t we do this later, my team is playing on TV." Her reply was innocence laced with arsenic, "Oh, we just need a few things, it shouldn’t take too long." His shoulders sagged and he resigned himself to the fate that, yes, it would take a long time and he would miss the game. They grabbed a squeaky shopping cart and headed off on their marathon. (Mental note: If I ever get married again, be sure to add the ‘To love, honor, and obey: except during football season’ clause into the vows.) So my game plan was to quickly snag what I came for and hightail it home in time for the games’ kickoff.

Recently, I purchased a crockpot and have been enjoying the success and ease of slow-cooked culinary masterpieces. The problem is that when I initially bought this particular model, I used the bigger is better theory and ended up toting home a crockpot big enough to bathe in. I decided that a smaller model was needed, maybe somewhere along the ten gallon size, so I found myself on a shopping quest on game day. Not a problem. Hmmm, isn’t that what Captain Smith said about that iceberg incident on the Titanic?

I made it to the cooking-thinga-bobs aisle in recored time and was executing the close-your-eyes-and-grab-the-first-item move, when I made a fatal error in judgement. I committed the worst sin in The Ten Commandments of Male Shopping; I paused to evaluate my purchase. As I was scanning the different brands, a female clerk asked if I needed help. It was as if another entity had suddenly emerged from the recesses of my logic process and I heard myself saying, "Yeah, which one of these is the best one?" It went downhill from there.

The lady with the squeaky cart and grumbling husband was passing by and she overheard the verbal exchange between the clerk and myself. As the clerk launched into her spiel about her favorite brand, the wife rolled up and joined in on the conversation. "Oh, you know, I have always preferred this brand!" she offered, and proceeded to sing the praises of her chosen product. While the clerk and the wife plead their cases to me, another clerk strolled by and invited herself into the fray. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a crowd of clerks and shoppers, each one determined to sway my affections, and wallet, towards their particular crockpot suggestions. In the midst of the growing clamor, I saw several husbands slipping off toward the electronics department where the game was being shown in full-blown, digitized, surround sound, football euphoria.

As the debating women grew more vocal, a security guard came by to investigate the gathering. Seeing that I was at the epicenter of the commotion he asked me what the problem was. Before I could answer, he quickly ascertained what was going on and started an immediate retreat. I grabbed his arm and told him that I was a shoplifter and he needed to arrest me and take me away. He took another look at the throng and whispered, "Sorry pal, you’re on your own!" and fled to the safety of the hiding husbands watching the game. Coward!

As the scene grew uglier, in desperation, I told the ladies to take their picks to the register and I would decide which one I wanted when I got there. I can only imagine the look of panic on the tellers’ face as he saw the exodus of crockpot brandishing squabblers heading his way.

I made my escape through the side door of the garden department.

Looking back on this, all I have to say is thank goodness for Internet shopping!

Never again will I be seduced by Martha Stewart, tempted by her deceptions of the wonders of crockpotting! I revert back to the safety of my old friend, the TV dinner, the choice of belching, underwear clad, football fanatic bachelors everywhere.

Take care.