Today, Bryan and I went to the infamous Home Depot to go through the ritualistic ‘changing of license plates’…making us feel like official Texans (even after all these years). I reference Home Depot as ‘infamous’ because I have yet to leave the establishment without a bizarre occurrence yet. The last time I was there, I had unknowingly split my drawers hopping into my brothers F150 and proceeded to wander throughout the store looking for an outlet adapter that most every employee volunteered to help me find.
Anyhow, today I was armed with solid bottoms and a boyfriend. We were searching out a wrench with which to unscrew the plates. Bryan started to look at the tools, I went to find a cheerful employee sporting an orange apron. What I found instead was a cheerful employee helping a dad and his two kids. So I stalked the guy to wait for assistance. The dad was a burly man- beer belly, cigarette-stained voice, Tevas & cotton athletic shorts. He is far more inquisitive about our search than the employee himself, and offers to show us ‘exactly what we need.’
While leading us there, he proceeds to explain to Bryan (in no light terms), that ‘every man needs a set of tools.’ We assume he has removed the both of us from this category since Bryan is wearing a Burberry polo and Cole Haan loafers. After about a five minute tutorial of all the power equipment you could dream of (including what instruments are needed to fix a coffee table, what instruments are needed to fix a car yourself), he finally landed on the relevant supplies. Had it not been so hysterical and domineering, I would have taken this notion as emasculating to Bryan, condescending at the least. After surveying our ‘three options,’ we picked the medium-priced wrench, just as the man walk away declaring very loudly that he was not, in fact, a Home Depot employee, and that he instead sold time shares for a living.
We get to the car. He’s there. Smoking outside his Ford truck and advising Bryan that his Honda was a POS and that some day he would quit buying ‘those Japanese cars.’ He instructed us to open the package, and walked Bryan through the whole transition while I sat by idly. Comments such as ‘things like this will make the wife happy,’ and ‘every man should know this…’ were in abundance. As he drove away I looked at Bryan and said ‘I think you just had your balls stapled to the wall.’
Maybe it is better to be a helpless female than a helpless male when you’re in HD territory.