Ladies, We Are Enablers
After my post about my Hillbilly Husband doing things that annoy
me, I decided I should lay off the good ol' boy for a while. Then
I saw the pan of sauerkraut he left on the stove, and decided,
"Naawwww..." Because you see, if you can rinse your plate by
yourself, and your wife has just had surgery, can you not scrape
out the last strings of kraut and rinse the pan as well?
You know, ladies, they do this on purpose. So we will think they
are incompetent, and that we might as well do it ourselves. Are
any of you old enough to remember the Bette Midler movie
"The Rose?" She does a monologue before her song "When a
Man Loves a Woman." She says: "What are we ladies? We are
waitresses at the banquet of LIIIIFE!" Yep. And we are enablers.
How do you think men got this way? Because somewhere along
the line, a woman made him this way. So here are some more
tales, though not about HH.
One of my teaching friends in Steelville, Missouri, married a local
boy. We asked how married life was treating her, and she said,
"Well, I'm a little tired from getting Lance up for his 2:00 am
feeding." Hmmm....Lance was the husband. We didn't want to
ask, in case this was some kind of little hanky-panky game just
between the two of them. But someone did. Seems that Lance
had to get up at 2:00 am every morning for a snack, because
his mother had done that all his life. She was afraid he might
die or get hungry in his sleep, so she would cook up a pie or
some such treat, then set her alarm to wake him up. So Lance
thought it was normal, and expected the new woman in his life
to do it for him, too.
Another teaching friend at that same school was upset because
her husband assumed he had a right to whatever was in his
house. (Kind of like HH and the Chex Mix situation.) She was
mad one year because he ate her chocolate Easter bunny. He
had finished off his own, and all the other candy, and got into
the fridge and ate hers, too. The next year, her mother told her
a little secret: If you have something you don't want a man to
find, wrap it in foil and put it in the back of the fridge. He will
never in a million years open that "leftover" foil packet. She
tried it, and Bunny was still there in August.
I hear you all clamoring "Tell us more, Hillbilly Mom! Tell us
more MAN stories!" OK, if you insist.
My neighbor's wife went to work at Wal-mart. He was used
to her staying home. She would spend a whole day mowing
the 6-acre lawn. Once he bought her a riding mower, she had
time to get a job. (That's how I perceive it, anyway.) He worked
at a factory, and changed shifts every two weeks. He was off
days, and she had gone to work. He almost died. (The way he
told it.) "I thought I was going to starve to death by the time
she finally got home to make me a sandwich."
My dad had a thing about always finding something wrong. He
would have said Mother Teresa was too nice, or something.
My mom worked a full time job. She would come home to
prepare a good meal for us, which we sat down to eat at 5:10
every evening, when my dad arrived home from work. We
might have a nice hillbilly meal of fried pork chops, cucumbers
floating in a bowl of vinegar, sliced tomatoes, green beans and
new potatoes cooked with bacon, and some Mississippi mud
cake for dessert. Now these vegetables were not store-bought.
They came out of my grandma & grandpa's garden. So my mom
had to snap the beans and peel the cucumbers and potatoes
and tomatoes, etc. So we would sit down, Dad would take
his first bite of green beans, make a face of disgust like we
were trying to poison him, and spit out a little string from the
green beans onto his fork, make a big deal of placing it on
the side of his plate, and then not eat the green beans. That
was not very nice. My poor mama would say, "Oh, I'm sorry,
I must have missed that string. Next time I'll look at them
closer." Give me a break! At school, we get green beans
with freakin' STEMS in them the size of pencils! Grow up!
Oh, and another story about my pops. He had some kind of
phobia about drive-thru speakers. Maybe not exactly a phobia,
but an aversion. So if we headed up to St. Louis, and wanted
to go by the Festus McDonalds, he wouldn't order through
the drive-thru. Or any other drive-thru. He would pull up,
and my mom would have to lean across the seat and shout
into the speaker. I can't explain it. He would pay them, but
not order.
Enablers, ladies. We are enablers in the idiosyncracies of men.
me, I decided I should lay off the good ol' boy for a while. Then
I saw the pan of sauerkraut he left on the stove, and decided,
"Naawwww..." Because you see, if you can rinse your plate by
yourself, and your wife has just had surgery, can you not scrape
out the last strings of kraut and rinse the pan as well?
You know, ladies, they do this on purpose. So we will think they
are incompetent, and that we might as well do it ourselves. Are
any of you old enough to remember the Bette Midler movie
"The Rose?" She does a monologue before her song "When a
Man Loves a Woman." She says: "What are we ladies? We are
waitresses at the banquet of LIIIIFE!" Yep. And we are enablers.
How do you think men got this way? Because somewhere along
the line, a woman made him this way. So here are some more
tales, though not about HH.
One of my teaching friends in Steelville, Missouri, married a local
boy. We asked how married life was treating her, and she said,
"Well, I'm a little tired from getting Lance up for his 2:00 am
feeding." Hmmm....Lance was the husband. We didn't want to
ask, in case this was some kind of little hanky-panky game just
between the two of them. But someone did. Seems that Lance
had to get up at 2:00 am every morning for a snack, because
his mother had done that all his life. She was afraid he might
die or get hungry in his sleep, so she would cook up a pie or
some such treat, then set her alarm to wake him up. So Lance
thought it was normal, and expected the new woman in his life
to do it for him, too.
Another teaching friend at that same school was upset because
her husband assumed he had a right to whatever was in his
house. (Kind of like HH and the Chex Mix situation.) She was
mad one year because he ate her chocolate Easter bunny. He
had finished off his own, and all the other candy, and got into
the fridge and ate hers, too. The next year, her mother told her
a little secret: If you have something you don't want a man to
find, wrap it in foil and put it in the back of the fridge. He will
never in a million years open that "leftover" foil packet. She
tried it, and Bunny was still there in August.
I hear you all clamoring "Tell us more, Hillbilly Mom! Tell us
more MAN stories!" OK, if you insist.
My neighbor's wife went to work at Wal-mart. He was used
to her staying home. She would spend a whole day mowing
the 6-acre lawn. Once he bought her a riding mower, she had
time to get a job. (That's how I perceive it, anyway.) He worked
at a factory, and changed shifts every two weeks. He was off
days, and she had gone to work. He almost died. (The way he
told it.) "I thought I was going to starve to death by the time
she finally got home to make me a sandwich."
My dad had a thing about always finding something wrong. He
would have said Mother Teresa was too nice, or something.
My mom worked a full time job. She would come home to
prepare a good meal for us, which we sat down to eat at 5:10
every evening, when my dad arrived home from work. We
might have a nice hillbilly meal of fried pork chops, cucumbers
floating in a bowl of vinegar, sliced tomatoes, green beans and
new potatoes cooked with bacon, and some Mississippi mud
cake for dessert. Now these vegetables were not store-bought.
They came out of my grandma & grandpa's garden. So my mom
had to snap the beans and peel the cucumbers and potatoes
and tomatoes, etc. So we would sit down, Dad would take
his first bite of green beans, make a face of disgust like we
were trying to poison him, and spit out a little string from the
green beans onto his fork, make a big deal of placing it on
the side of his plate, and then not eat the green beans. That
was not very nice. My poor mama would say, "Oh, I'm sorry,
I must have missed that string. Next time I'll look at them
closer." Give me a break! At school, we get green beans
with freakin' STEMS in them the size of pencils! Grow up!
Oh, and another story about my pops. He had some kind of
phobia about drive-thru speakers. Maybe not exactly a phobia,
but an aversion. So if we headed up to St. Louis, and wanted
to go by the Festus McDonalds, he wouldn't order through
the drive-thru. Or any other drive-thru. He would pull up,
and my mom would have to lean across the seat and shout
into the speaker. I can't explain it. He would pay them, but
not order.
Enablers, ladies. We are enablers in the idiosyncracies of men.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 1:11 PM
10 Comments:
OMG @ the chocolate bunny story!! Mine does that...I don't have much of a sweet tooth, I'm more a chips and salsa kinda girl. But I do like the occasional chocolate now and then. I don't know how many times I've had a candy bar, or ice cream sandwiches or whatever in the freezer, and then when I get around to wanting it, it's GONE! Ooooo it makes me so mad!
And all hubby can say is "You should know better than to leave chocolate lying around!" Grrrrr...
I'm gonna try that foil wrapping trick next time!
The hubbie at my house asked me to hang his shirts all facing the same way. And, I do it. But, my act of revolt is to leave my shoes EVERYWHERE! It drives him insane.
My answer is-"when you start vacuuming and cleaning the toilets, I'll move my shoes."
MamaKBear,
It is worse when HH takes things the kids have been saving, or things their grandma sends them. They're just kids! They cry. And HH says, "Well, IF it took your candy, THEN I'm sorry." That makes them madder, because he isn't really admitting to it.
Kim,
They just don't catch on. We have SOOO many ways to get even.
Hi Hillbilly Mom,
I think the question shoud be asked; "What the hell is a hillbilly doing eating Kraut?"
Sounds to me like the mansion is going a little up market. Mind you, I guess if it had been deep fried, or stuffed into some roadkill then it would count as hillbilly food.
HooRoo
Rebecca
Bec,
Kraut. It comes in a can. Open, pour in pan with leftover grilled hot dogs (which for all I know do contain roadkill so they are a true hillbilly food), and voila! A meal! That means I don't really have to cook, and I can enjoy my post-surgery fake vicodin while reading your blog.
And I have issues with that. I know she meant nothing by it, but one of your new commenters is getting under my skin. I asked about the rabbits because I didn't know about the rabbits, AND I have a thirst for knowledge. I made that comment about you not having fences as I make comments about living on the surface of the sun. Some things I am just needling you about. So now Miss New Commenter presumes to know what us "overseas" people think. That rubs me the wrong way. I was feuding with you before she even THOUGHT about having a blog! Oh, the outrage!
On a serious note...I will resume our feud again on Thursday, so get your ammunition ready. My Thursday. I don't know what day YOU PEOPLE will be on! Probably ahead of us, since your civilization is so far advanced.
I would like just once, to sit down to a meal without one of the kids asking "who made the green beans or who made the potatoes"? Like there is another mother in the house that only they can see? Who the heck do you THINK made them? Maybe the same person who is going to smack you with my wooden spoon if you complain about it.
Mrs.,
One of my stepsons asked me one time: "Are we having "stringy meat" tonight?" That's what he called roast.
My husband made them a grilled cheese sandwhich once, and the kid bit into it and said, "Where's the CHEESE?" Cause HH put a Kraft American Single on there (or the Save A Lot equivalent) and I use two slices of Velveeta.
My dad told me a joke a few weeks ago and I thought "Oh my gosh, that's just the mentality of men around here!"
How many rednecks does it take to open a can of beer?
None. It should've been open when she brought it to him.
Enablers. The lot of us.
My mom enabled my dad...big time. That's why I swore I'd never do it.
Diva,
That made me laugh. It also reminded me of when my future Hillbilly Husband took me to a BBQ at his buddy's house, and Buddy told me to pat out some hamburgers right after HH introduced us. What nerve! Buddy had his own wife. Why did I have to pat out hamburgers? I told him "No thanks" and he looked at me like I was nuts. HH caught on early that I don't like a man telling me what to do.
Stacy,
Swearing? Here now! This is a FAMILY blog! I saw my Hillbilly Mama cater to my dad over some things, and I won't do them to this day. Like apologize for leaving a string on the green beans. Hey, aren't they called 'string beans', for cryin' out loud? There's a difference in doing things to be nice, and doing things because you're expected to because it is your perceived DUTY.
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