Who Wears the Pants
There’s certain traditions attached to each way of life according to the culture in which it’s set. I’m talkin’ about the matriarchal system vs. patriarchal models. Well there used to be certain traditions attached to them. These days though, the lines are becoming somewhat blurred. It’s a matter of who makes the decisions about the important things.
Of course, each gender has its own ideas of who the decision makers ought to be. Well that’s only natural. It’s probably at the root of most family arguments. Of course when you’re retired, the dynamic changes somewhat. All the years I was workin’ I never came out of the bathroom to be confronted by the vacuum cleaner standin’ right on the other side o’ the door, for example, waitin’ for me to do the cleanin’. Well it’s little things like that you notice.
Then of course there’s the laundry business. There ain’t a time goes by the missus don’t come back with a story about an elderly couple doing their laundry together. It’s so sweet, she says. They’re laughin’ an’ talkin’ an’ havin’ fun doin’ it. Of course I know what’s on the wife’s mind. We’ll be doin’ laundry together an’ first thing you know, I’ll be doin’ it by myself. It’s a constant battle of wits to stay ahead o’ the game.
An’ speakin’ of laundry, the other day I go into my closet to fetch a pair of my comfortable pants to get dressed for the day. Guess what? No pants! NO PANTS! Well, that ain’t really true neither. I got my suit pants an’ my dress pants, but who wants to wear them around the house? An’ then there’s a couple o’ pairs o’ heavy winter cords that used to fit last year. Gravity has fixed that so now they got to go to the tailor’s.
“Where’s my pants?” I ask the missus none too politely.
“Put away!” she shoots back in similar style.
“Since when do you get to hide my pants on me?” I want to know.
“Since it’s not summer anymore! You’ll look like an idiot wearin’ them pants at this time o’ year an’ you’re not going out with ME lookin’ like THAT!”
“Oh.” It took me a minute to catch my breath.
I regain my composure an’ come back kinda cocky-like: “Listen lady, far as I know I still wear the pants in the family so keep your hands off them.”
She smiles at me sweetly an’ I know I’m sunk even before she opens her mouth an’ demurely says; “Of course you wear the pants in the family dear, but you’ll wear the pants I put out for you.”
Well that’s it then. I’ve finally learned the lesson of how it is that men wear the pants in the family, Or at least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.