I’m not a man’s man in the traditional sense.
I don’t capture or kill my food, I’ve never been quick to temper and I enjoy the creative arts. I’m not the handiest with tools and my wife regularly laughs at my handyman prowess. For whatever reason I am unsure, because unbeknownst to her I am a veteran deck and retaining wall specialist – okay I’ve built two of each!
I know how to concrete, I know how to build a fence (once again I have built two). I’m fine with basic mechanics and can fix minor electrics. I’ve operated a mini digger and can use a rotary hoe. For goodness sake, I can even reverse a trailer!
The last time I counted I had over 475 chest hairs, two tattoos, 14 scars, a deviated septum (from too many broken noses), 2 chipped teeth and a fixed knuckle (the teeth and knuckle accumulated after fighting). I have hairy legs, nostrils and buttocks.
So, while not a man’s man in the traditional sense, I do hold my own on the testosterone stakes. However, there is one exception. A place where my manhood is only respected for moving spiders (as I refuse to kill them), opening jars and taking the rubbish out. That place is of course home.
Our home is a feminists paradise, my wife, my daughter and our crazy cat Izzy all conspiring to emasculate me. Take this morning for example.
My wife has a bad head cold and as a result her airways are blocked, leading to snoring so loud last night our neighbours complained to the council.
After getting up at midnight, 2am and 4am, I finally decided I needed to leave our matrimonial bed and head to the spare room. This is where my day started to become even worse. For ensconced on this bed was a bevy of bald, big bellied babies! My daughter had surreptitiously turned the spare room into a nursery. After making sufficient room and ensuring not to wake up the sleeping babies, I finally got to sleep myself close to 5.ooam.
A Noise Control Officer called around first thing this morning and issued me a Noise Pollution Notice with an estimated reading of 99 decibels (same level as a chainsaw or lawn mower). The council man who knocked at the front door very nearly fainted as I opened the door due to the smell of Kate’s leather shoes and Maddies sneakers wafting upwardly and insulting every single sense you can imagine and dread.
The man from the council coughed and choked as he wrote out the ticket. Then he smiled at me sympathetically, touching me on the shoulder as he turned away.
‘I understand fella,…and while taking the wrap for your wife is very admirable, in the long run it ain’t doing you any favours.’
He then shook his head as he walked down the driveway, taking note of the skirts, blouses, tights, bra’s and knickers hanging on the clothes line.
After he left, I made a cuppa then decided to have a shower and shave. Before shaving I was greeted by four naked Barbies. Now normally 4 naked shapely blondes in a bathroom would have excited me greatly – but for some reason a rash of shyness overcame me and I actually turned away from them to get undressed.
After a shower, which went cold after five minutes – as Maddie had washed her hair last night (code for a 45 minute shower); tradition usually dictates teeth brushing next, but not this morning because lounging all over a towel was another naked barbie, this time in a most provocative pose!
‘Enough,’ I cried and headed down to the garage where I could pick my nose, scratch my bits and check the car oil. Unfortunately, as I walked into the garage I knocked over a dolls stroller which somehow ended up being kicked down the driveway.