The Old Coot Has a Day at the Beach.
By Merlin Lessler
“You’ve come a long way, baby!” So touted the ad for
Virginia Slims, a new cigarette that was marketed to independent minded women
in the late 1960’s. It was true. It is true. Women had, and have,
come a long way, breaking free of the shackles that held them back. Now, they
stand or fall on their own merits. It isn’t true though, as some social progressives
would have you believe, that there is no difference between men and women. Old
coots know better. The fundamental difference hasn’t changed since we lived in
caves. Men hunt. Women gather, and nest (and do everything else, I might add,
including hunting).
I stumble on these differences all the time, pursuing my
favorite pastime – people watching. I’ve reported back on many of them - men
can’t fold - men don’t listen - men don’t understand the good-bye process - men
tape over their wedding video with a Giant’s football game and wonder why their
wives are upset. And, as I observed at the beach, men can’t pick out a spot to
set up their gear on the sand.
It was warm and sunny, a perfect day to sit by the water and
relax. I watched a brother old coot come out of his car, plop down a
combination beach bag/cooler and set up two folding lounge chairs & an
umbrella at the first open spot he came to. He sat down, lit a cigar and opened
the paper to the sports section. He was in heaven! Then the storm clouds blew
in; his wife arrived. The battle was on! Mind you, I was too far away to hear a
word they said, but, I’m a master at reading body language, especially when the
sparks are flying. She barked a few sentences in his direction; he shrugged, got
up and gathered their stuff and stood there like a dummy, something us old
coots do when we’re being supervised. She patrolled the waterfront, measuring
the wind, the angle of the sun and other factors.
Finally, the selection process came to an end. She signaled
to the “dummy” to bring their stuff. She told him where to set up the chairs
and the umbrella and freed him from her apron strings. He plopped down on his chair
but quickly got back up, an appropriate response to the quick jerk of her head
and the sharp glare she hurled in his direction. She then brushed off some
microscopic grains of sand from the chairs and stood back to assess the layout.
The nest was ready! He sat with a sigh, took a puff on his cigar and reopened the
paper. Her work was done, she headed up the beach to examine the goods on sale
in a craft market a hundred yards or so off the beach. She went by herself,
knowing full well that men don’t know how to shop and she didn’t want a
two-year-old (equivalent) tugging at her skit and whining to go back to the
beach. I didn’t notice if she was smoking a Virginia Slim or not. I was in
enough trouble as it was for repeatedly saying, “Yes dear, Yes dear,” while not
listening, as is usually the case when I’m distracted by drama such as this.
Comments, complaints?
Send to mlessler7@gmail.com
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