Last week, I experienced a defining I Love Lucy moment. You know, when ordinary life transpires into a comical event? My adventure began when Hubby confused my domestic expertise with his manly mission. Up until then, my responsibilities were confined to household chores measured by the wear and tear on my broom and wiping the faces of snotty nosed young’ns.
Pinched for time, Hubby begged me to venture beyond my comfort zone to support his project. The task seemed simple enough. I was not shopping for three-quarter inch stainless screw with a hex head drive. Rather, I only needed to purchase a hatchet to chop hickory for our weekly barbecue.
Not wanting to live without the smorgasbord of smoky delicacies that Hubby mastered from the grill, this Dixie Chick did not pitch a hissy fit at his shopping request. There was no time for piddling around. Immediately, I scampered to the nearest “Boys R Us” store.
After bypassing shovels, rakes, and pruning saws on the outdoor tool aisle, I discovered the perfect sized hatchet. Sliding it off the rack, the wooden handle felt sturdy in the palm of my hand while the honed blade gleamed with promise. “Yep! This baby could do some serious hickory chopping.”
Talking to myself, with the hatchet swinging to the rhythm of my stride, I strolled through the displays of tile, granite countertops and lighting fixtures. At the corner of every aisle, a good ole’ boy greeted me with urgency.
“Ma’am, may I help you?” Raising the hatchet a tad I smiled and drawled, “Why, thank you kind sir, but I have found just what I need to tickle my fancy.” Never had I received so much sales help.
Bewildered by their attention, I pondered, “Was the sharp bladed doohickey wavering in my sweaty palm possibly the golden key to womanly empowerment?”
At the checkout counter, the cashier eyed me with concern. Scanning the bar code on the “True Temper” hatchet raised her brow.
Leaning forward she nervously giggled, “I reckon there is a full moon awaitin’ the hormonally impaired. True Temper’s have been flying off the shelves all mornin’.” Then in a respectful tone she whispered, “Bless your heart, Honey. Sure don’t want to get in your business, but is it your time of the month?”
Assuring her with a grin that the midol pulsing through my veins had nothing to do with my purchase, “Boys R Us” security, which monitored my every move, sighed with relief.
Despite how others perceive me, I’ll swallow my pride in order to savor a mouth-watering feast of hickory-smoked barbecue. “Y’all Got Sweet Tea?”