Second Helpings

Logic Blocks

Without wishing to cause a gender debate or be accused of man bashing, I have to admit once more men's logic just leaves me scratching my head. Or maybe it's just the one I live with; I don't get out much these days.

I realised many years ago my wavelength and hubby's are miles apart and communication often totally bizarre. I remember one of the first occasions was when I told him I'd had an obscene phone call while he was out. His reaction?

'Who was it?'

Telephones are a constant reminder of his illogical mind. Nine times out of ten it will ring and ring and no matter what I'm doing I have to drop it and answer the phone. His reasoning is the call is always for me. Nine times out of ten it isn't. Then when I either have to search him out or yell that it's for him, he'll say-

'Who is it?'

Then there's the weather issue. He's one of those people who believes houses only need heating when you're actually in them and sitting still. Once spring officially arrives it's the time to switch it off altogether. No matter today has been a miserable, cold and rainy day; hey it's May so that should be enough to keep you warm. If I complain I'm cold it's because I've opened one window upstairs; men's logic may be the cause of my death by hypothermia. Knowing how little the heating has been on I always feel I need to ask if there's enough hot water to have a bath. His response?

'There should be.' What sort of an answer is that?

Hubby has two approaches to household tasks. One is to start a massive job, then be unable to complete it for weeks, months, even years. Hence our front drive has been half paved for the past two years and our bathroom under reconstruction even longer. His other method is the 'I've started so I'll finish,' one, which generally applies to decorating and gardening tasks.

So why is it when we're in the midst of chaos with my parents, trying to help out son and family in their new home and the weather is foul to boot, he suddenly decides to tackle everything at once? The front drive is now a mass of wet, muddy building rubble, the bathroom a heap of broken tiles and the lounge covered in paint pots and cover sheets.

And while we're at it, when I'm on the computer and it gets to a certain time, he comes grumbling and growling about being hungry and wanting his dinner. Yet when he's standing on a chair sloshing paint around walls, he forgets the promise he made to get dinner, seeing as I have so much parental business to attend to and I find myself about to expire from starvation, if the hypothermia doesn't get me first.

I conclude nothing's going to happen in the kitchen, so ask what he was planning on cooking. He replies he thought a curry would be okay as we have all the ingredients in. I start cooking then have to answer the phone three times, seeing as he can't bear to be parted from his paintbrush and the calls will be for me anyway. Three times it's for him.

'Who is it?'

I then discover there is one missing ingredient for this curry he was going to cook before the obsessive painting session started, which just happens to be curry powder. Now, much as I consider myself a flexible and imaginative cook, not even I can produce a madras, korma or tikka without curry powder. I broach the subject and hubby irritably agrees to nip to the supermarket down the road and get some. Then promptly starts hoovering and forgets all about it. He only likes mild curry anyway.

I try not to argue too much with my hubby. No matter what the topic or criticism, the responses will always be, 'I don't,' 'I didn't,' or 'I'm not,' If I sense a heated debate starting I'll end it by saying there's no point talking to you, you argue with everything I say. His response?

'I don't.'

But tonight I'm gobsmacked again by his logic. Unbeknown to me, he's treated himself to a Satellite Navigation system for the car. Some who remember the airport fiasco last year may argue it's a sound purchase, but since then I've insisted we fly only from our local airport ensuring he can't get lost. Excuse me, but apart from the golf course, the supermarket, the kid's houses and the gym, I don't actually notice him going anywhere. So what's he planning on programming it to do?

From armchair to remote control?
From kitchen sink to television?
From bed to toilet?
From shed to greenhouse?
From paint pot to telephone?

I tell you, whoever said men are from Mars got it wrong. I reckon mine comes from a totally different universe and I have to admit sometimes I wish they'd send a spaceship down to fetch him back. Maybe I should encourage him to phone home.