Gender tolerance runs both ways

By Debbie Irmen (Contact) | The Daily Journal

Published Thursday, April 3, 2008

Having spent about a year apart from my husband a couple years ago, I understand The Journal editor’s plight — he’s a bachelor of sorts.

Randy told everyone all the guy-things he’d do when I wasn’t around, such as leave the toilet seat up, eat fatty foods and install a ... well you get the picture.

The editor is going through the same thing now with his wife, though he must also be responsible for his youngest son.

His stories and mine are so similar, but from opposite perspectives — female and male.

The first thing I used to do upon my arrival, after walking through the house, was roll up my sleeves, run a sink of soapy water and wipe down the kitchen counters, cupboards, refrigerator, microwave and stove.

Then I’d do the same in the bathroom.

Apparently the editor’s wife does the same thing.

“We just cleaned everything and think it’s looking pretty good,” he said of his effort to prepare his temporary home for his wife’s arrival.

No offense, but the house wasn’t woman-clean.

(Lest I be accused of gender-bias, let me just say, I’ll give equal time to the fellas in just minute.)

Generally speaking, and certainly it is true of my husband, guys are lacking the cleaning gene that requires one do more than brush the crumbs from the counter. In fact, one generally must apply pressure to get stuck-on stuff off the counter.

Other things that would happen if Randy had the cleaning gene:

n It would nudge him to clean the stove top after each use, but certainly before using it again.

n He would pick up and throw away the slivers of plastic that he cuts when he slices cheese. (Or throw away the little bits of foil pulled off the wine bottle in order to get to the cork.)

n Put the toilet seat down, hang up the hand towel used to dry hands after using the bathroom, put the cover on his contact lens case or the toilet paper roll on its holder.

Most of the time, I accept the fact he is missing this key gene, but on occasion I rant at him to pick up after himself.

From his comfortable spot on the couch — and to get my goat — he’ll reply: “That’s what you’re around for.”

I chuckle, pretty sure he’s kidding; and that I have a missing male gene, of which he is equally accepting and evens things out a bit.

That is the one that reminds me to look before backing up, and always remove the keys from the car’s ignition before locking the doors.

I don’t know how many times Randy has driven up to my rescue when I’ve called him to say I’ve locked the keys in the car — again.

Or fixed my minor fender benders, such as when we were both backing out of the driveway, one in front of the other, and he stopped for traffic. I didn’t stop until I tapped his bumper. In the review mirror, I saw him shaking his head.

Early in our marriage, I had a similar fender bender backing out of the garage, though it involved more than one car.

He could have made a big scene, but kept his cool. The next morning, he was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, going through the auto insurance policy.

“Wha’cha doing?” I asked.

“Looking for the stupid clause in our insurance policy.

Both genders must be long-suffering to live together; and have a heckuva sense of humor, that’s all I can say.

Debbie Irmen’s column runs Thursdays.