As the great & infinitely wise Commander John Crichton once said “Crackers don’t matter!” Truly words of wisdom, especially over the holidays where women are, you know, a little more insane than usual.
Crackers no importan.
There is something in their collective psyche that needs, while attending or hosting a holiday event, to forget several little things & then attribute a vast & totally disproportionate amount of worth & need to these things. Reality left the house in mid-November, it will return with the new year, taking a slight detour, again, in February.
Es simple, las mujeres son una locura.
I say several because it is always in multiples, they are always too swamped to go & get them, so they are going to send you. It’s always you. Girlfriend, spouse, mother, sister, grandmother, it’s always going to be you that goes.
And they are going to stress if you don’t drop everything instantly & run to the over-crowded-busy-as-shit supermarket & pick it up.
And then while you are fighting the mass of people, generally other men in your same situation, they are going to get even more stressed out that you didn’t instantly return & call you several times while you are waiting in line.
The first call is to see where you are.
The following three calls are to voice the aberration over the fact that you are still stuck in a line that stretches three blocks, crackers in-hand. Somehow you have deviated from their norm. You have moved off the beaten path. They had planned to send you out & planned on your return within five-minutes after shutting your car door & turning over the ignition.
Es simple, las mujeres son una locura.
Of course, on these last minute, do-or-die, all-or-nothing missions, after standing in line & receiving several exasperated phone calls concerned about the time it is taking for the crackers to reach the table, you, the man, finally arrives home.
Upon arrival you are not greeted with a hero’s welcome. Braving the holiday traffic & the lines at the supermarket is a Herculean task & one that will remain forever unsung.
Vuelve con tu escudo o sobre él.
Instead of a thank you, the woman, the female of the species waits until you take off your jacket, & untie your boots. She watches you closely as you take a seat & relax. She waits until you have poured a cup of nice hot coffee.
And once she sees that you are at ease once more, she tells you that there is no cheese to go with the crackers. You don’t understand, Commander Crichton, you can’t have crackers without any cheese. There cannot be a holiday without any cheese to go with the crackers & there couldn’t be a holiday without the crackers to go with the sausage.
How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat!
How long has she known that you needed to pick up cheese?
Since about five minutes before she sent you out for the crackers.
When does she tell you that you need to get the cheese?
About five minutes after you get settled back in your chair with your coffee.
And then you are off again, once more, & you know better than to say anything about it. Not if you don’t want to experience all of Dante’s circles.
Women & leisure don’t mix. Their idea of time off, their idea of having a nice holiday with friends & family, is to make things as complicated as they can possibly be to assure that no one enjoys a single moment of it until it has achieved the perfection that will never come.
Sure, it’s OK if the guests enjoy it. But then that seems to only apply to the guests that don’t have a wing-ding & things, they have to go through the same repetitive series of runs to the supermarket that the men in the hosts house have to. Sometimes, they might run into one another on separate missions. Two ships passing in the night, equally frustrated. Increasingly frustrated. Only a minor wave to show recognition, the women might yell if they know you wasted a moment to talk while you stood in line, instead of willing it to move faster.
“I brought Escargot to the party…but damn, I forgot the snails. No, you don’t worry about it, I’ll send Jack.” Even when your the guest you don’t get off free.
And then, of course, there’s the ride home. Jane said something mildly catty. Jill is intent to not make a big deal out of it, or even pretend that she noticed. Instead she’s going to complain at you about it the entire ride home & possibly over the next several days.