REAL MEN DON'T SHOP AND COOK

After my second divorce, I moved to Atlanta to care for my parents. Each day meant trips to doctors, therapists, shopping and preparing three healthy meals. All this proved a mixed blessing for a somewhat eligible bachelor. Each woman I dated, of course, had her idiosyncrasies. Naturally, I had none.

Every time we went out to dinner, for example, Cindy’s son would call with an alleged emergency and demand that she come home. Carol’s son would always need me to help him with his homework. Laurie was a Maoist who would argue ideology even as we dined in the most bourgeoisie restaurants. Two things that my girlfriends did have in common, though: They appreciated that I was devoted to my parents and that I was a good cook.

But, then there was Rachel, a concert pianist. I attended a recital, and much to my folly, she cast her net to trap me. We dated pleasantly for about four months. She was, as you might expect, quite a prima donna, but I enjoyed her artistic ways and her kids.

Then, things started to go sour. On our next date came the moment of truth. She wanted, she said, “a real man,” not one who occupied his days “shopping and cooking.” She said that she had purchased an expensive Ermenegildo Zegna tie to reward me when I morphed into a “real man.”

I told her that I would take the matter under advisement. The only use that I had for her Zegna tie was to wrap it tightly around her neck. Finally, with my wits about me, I asked for another date. “Bring the tie,” I told her. “I’ve become a real man.”

I presented myself at her house carrying a bag. We proceeded to the kitchen table, as I announced, “No more shopping and cooking! I am now a real man!” I produced a loaf of bread and jars of peanut butter and jelly. “Now may I have my tie?”

Shortly thereafter, Linda came into my life. Now she shops and I cook, or vice versa. As for Rachel, I hope she finds her “real man,” and that he likes Zegna ties and she likes lots of peanut butter and jelly.