As a married man I am often presented with difficult choices, choices that I have no option but to make. I might also add that ordinary lesser men, or shall we call them single, would shy from such stresses. These issues, require pondering notions beyond the self. Ergo,the singles are ill equipped to deal with such complexities.
Take a seat then and set ones self to imagining the following situation. (If you like I could have a flashing red emergency light during high stress moments?)
Ones dearly beloved wife suddenly makes it clear she would like some of those “Nice” chocolate chip cookies she had last week. (Open flashing red light) It is not proper to ask, which cookies? This is one of those things a husband, of any worth, should know; even if you were in Buenos Aries at the time she experienced those particular cookies. She told you about them so you should know. Besides, she has used the word “Nice” and this is description enough.
To her the word conveys everything she needs or could possibly want to know about the “Nice” cookie,with the information encoded into that word she could home in on them from outer space. You are her soul mate and with just one look into her eyes you will know all you need to know in order that you might cash in on this golden opportunity to please.
In true white knight fashion you leap into action and dash, post haste, to the store. There is a sense of urgency to the mission peppered with a tsp of anticipation at the glorious smile you will receive in just a few moments. En route your incredible spouse knowing mind computes all the possible variations of your wife’s fancies and interpretations of “Nice”. Likes and dislikes. . .she is legion in her peculiarities. Still, with absolute confidence you start to find your way around the store.
It’s an alien place full of mystique and hidden purpose that, for the most part eludes you. You are male and as such a simple thing despite years of training by your talented and caring wife. For you groceries are a one-stop affair at the frozen food section; 10 minutes tops and your groceries are done.
You find the bakery section and for a few pointless minutes you stare in dismay at the dazzling array of so called homemade cookies. Chocolate chip, double chocolate chip, chunked chip, half chunk low fat, wholewheat? You refuse to ponder the mathematics of whole and half chunk but seriously call into question the notion of Homemade cos, this is not where you live.
As you approach the brightly smiling store manager, ready to complain, you are suddenly struck by an ancient memory that has long been stored at the back of your mind. You marvel at your ability to recall such deeply stored data and head off to the regular cookie section. The manager smiles at you as you pass him by and you glare back. Didn’t grocery stores used to be simpler? Surely it was never necessary to make a base camp before trekking through a jungle of signs, assorted misnomers,and out right lies?
Thank heavens for the pimply youth,the one that always looks at you as if you have asked for the moon, for without this jungle savvy teen you would never locate the cookie section.
Heading after your guide you recall those carefree days when you and dearly beloved shopped together giggling and watching every penny. She beaming with excitement as she picks up the Chunks Ahoy cookies and you unable to resist her are pleased to waste the small mortgage that the cookies cost. She would be so pleased now when you bring them home to her. Her great hunter delivering the goods just like he should.
The cookie aisle now is as big as the stores you used to shop in and the endless parade of cookies is as infinite as the universe itself. Your guide gestures toward the aisle like Nicolas Cage revealing vast caverns of glittering glowing mounds of treasure.
Why in the name of Saint Cookie is there so much choice? Wasn’t the bakery department enough? A cookie is a cookie and it would be a great cookie if it was only one effing cookie we had to concentrate on; Just one kind of cookie how magical. Instead we have UFO cookies, crop circle cookies, Harry Potter cookies and fresh cream cookies. The likelihood of that last one leaves you bewildered along with the all natural and I love Mitt cookies.
Alas, there are no chunks ahoy cookies that I can see. It would be handy if all aisles were equipped with search engines. All you would have to do then is key in your cookie and the appropriate place in the aisle would light up. Instead you search for another pimply youth that is not hurriedly rushing away from you.
The one you grab by the collar and force to focus looks at you as though you are speaking Sanskrit. You swear this ones pimples spontaneously burst as he pulls out a crumbling manual and under the heading of “Ancient” finds your cookie.
Yes it’s in the back, of course it is, under armed guard and will take him several days to get them out for you. But being a youth with a sense of his own destiny he can see you are on a mission his heart knows that he too will be so charged and at the mercy of the disinterested.
He disappears into the back leaving you biting your nails while sweat beads upon your furrowed brow. At last the little hero returns and presents you with the desired cookies. Was that an emotional tear you saw in his eye? No, couldn’t be?
At the cash desk the bloody things don’t scan because back when these cookies were first carved from the sphincter bone of a warthog bar codes were written in Canadian only. Up to date scanners only read American ergo war of 1812 all over again. This is a store with a smiling and willing to abase himself manager. It is via his vast knowledge of things ancient that we are able to circumvent the testy scanner. He can search his personal database, cross-check and cross the line to find you a price.
It is done and at last you are on your way home your cookies sitting on the car seat next to you. A smile is on your face as you imagine the delight on your dear wife’s face. You cross the threshold of your love nest and there she is, the light of your life, wrapped in a blanket watching the movie she had swore to put on pause for you. She looks up at you expectantly. You know what is coming, don’t you? You should have bought the double half chunk whole-wheat homemade cookies.