By Merlin Lessler
Here I go again. Providing unwanted
advice in yet another attempt to help men from Mars get along with
women from Venus. This time it’s for men who are “fast leavers”
married to women who are “slow leavers.” It goes something like
this. He asks, “Ready to go?” (To the store, across country,
across the street. It doesn’t matter.) She replies, “I’ll be
right there.” Off he goes, gets in the car, starts it up, tunes the
radio to a sports station and watches for her to come out the door.
Two minutes go by. Then five. He starts
getting antsy, “What the heck is keeping her?” Another five
minutes tick off the Mickey Mouse watch on his wrist. He starts to
boil. He gets out of the car and goes to the door. Here she comes,
two bags in her hand. One, to drop off at her mother’s, the other
to be donated to the Mission. “You don’t mind do you?” she asks
as the car bolts out of the driveway, nearly hitting a woman walking
down the sidewalk.
“What took you so long?” he asks,
gritting his teeth to help keep his mad face under control. The reply
is a long one, “Oh, I had to take a load of clothes out of the
dryer and fold them so they wouldn’t get wrinkled. Then I noticed
the mirror in the bathroom was all spotty from when you washed your
hands so I wiped it off. The dishes in the sink looked messy so I
rinsed them and stacked them up to dry, in case someone came in and
saw them. On and on and on…” All legitimate things. “BUT,” he
groans, “You said you were ready to go!” She says, “I was.
Almost.”
It doesn’t matter where you are
going; the scenario is always the same. The problem is created by the
“slow-leaver” but the solution lies with the “fast-leaver.”
Even a rat in a maize eventually learns how to navigate the obstacles
between itself and happiness. But not the men, fidgeting and fuming,
while waiting in the driveway, outside the door at an antique shop,
on a bench in the mall. Always surprised she’s not there, like she
said she would be. He believes her when she says, “Just a sec!”
Even though it’s never been just a sec. He’s one rat that never
found his way to the cheese.
Here comes the good part. Advice from
an old coot who learned this Mars versus Venus thing the hard way.
(Waiting impatiently for years!) But, no more; the path through the
maize is simple. It’s called, “Facing reality. You are going to
wait! Longer than you think! And, more often than you think. So
figure out how to spend that interval between a slow-leaver saying,
“I’ll just be a sec,” and the time it actually takes her to get
there.
Set up your car as though it were a
man-cave. A 19-inch flat screen TV is a good start. A cooler full of
beer and a cabinet loaded with chips, candy and nuts is a nice
addition. Top it off with a vibrating, “feels like real fingers”
massage seat cushion. That will get you through the maize. If she
takes so long that you’ve emptied the beer cooler, then you get the
bonus prize. You won’t be allowed to go.
Get yourself a man bag for the waiting
you do outside the car. Nothing in leather! Get a canvas one that has
a military look. Load it with a crossword puzzle, an I-pod, a camera,
a sports magazine and three snicker’s bars. This will get you
through most waits at a mall or on a bench outside an antique store.
Use the camera to take pictures of the old coots waiting for their
wives who just sit there with a scowl on their face. It could go
viral, even funnier than the images of Wal-Mart shoppers that
circulate on the Internet.
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