So here's this gender thing. What's a Guy Thing and what is a Not-A-Guy Thing?
I have a theory. It has become hopelessly impossible to figure out the answer since the advent of reality television.
Don't believe me? Consider these two examples. But remember they are occurring in the context of a guy who has chosen John Belushi as his historical inspiration.
Two days ago I made a chicken salad. Now twenty years ago I would have taken leftover chicken, put it on two pieces of Wonderbread, thrown mayo and salt and called it a sandwich. Now, I chop up celery, onion, cilantro, and parsley, blend them with dijon mustard and mayonnaise. Then I chop up the leftover chicken into tiny pieces and toss it in the mixture.
I have watched too many reality shows about chefs. I now think of myself as a budding cook rather than a guy who wants a sandwich. I do not want Linda to eliminate me because I haven't loved the cooked chicken enough.
Even worse. Some of you have been reading this long enough to know that I have developed a bed-making habit. But it's not that I just make the bed, I now feel it needs to be a five-star bed. It's gotten so bad that even when others make the bed, I often strip it down and make it again.
But the other night we were watching Donald Trump's Celebrity Apprentice. The challenge was to run a luxury hotel for the night, and the standards of the hotel had to be maintained. My ears perked up when Joan Rivers' daughter said the luxury hotels required the maids to give the pillows some sort of karate chop to make them perfectly fluffy.
Saw the show on Thursday, and raised my performance the next day. Regrettably, for those five nights LK hasn't even noticed the chop mark in her pillow. But I am not about to abandon my standards. These standards, I must add,would have been thought laughable twenty years ago.
So what am I to think? Is my Guy Thing fighting with my Feminine Side? Or is reality TV just totally contorting what's going on?
Doesn't really matter. But you should know that the chicken salad was as good as anything you've ever eaten, and LK absolutely loves climbing into the perfectly made bed. And I still dress like a slob.