Man of the House

“I’m heading to the store to pick up a few groceries dear, do you need me to get you anything?” I asked without thinking.

“Well, since you’re going can you buy some pads while you’re out?” my wife replied.

Pads? Was she planning on moving again and I didn’t know about it? Then it hit me.

“Oh come on dear, you know how I feel about buying feminine products for you. It’s against my personal code of ethics. Besides, what if I bump into someone I know at the store? I’ll lose my man card for sure. You don’t want that do you? How will the trash get taken out then?” I said as I tried to plead my case.

“Why do you have to be such a drama queen? All I asked for was one simple favor. If it’s that big a deal I’ll just get them tomorrow,” she shot back expecting me to feel guilty.

“Great,” I said and headed toward the door. “And for the record, hearing my lifelong love interest call me a ‘queen’ of any kind doesn’t exactly do wonders for my self esteem either.”

“Fine. Get out of here you big baby before I insult you some more. You men are so fragile.”

On the way to the store I couldn’t get her words out of my head. Maybe I was being to sensitive, but a guy needs to maintain his masculinity inside a marriage. It’s critical to the survival of the relationship. Boundaries had to be established. And buying maxi-pads is where I draw the line.

Shannon and I have been married for over eight years now. During that prison sentence, I mean blissful experience; she has been very careful not to strip me of my male identity. She always encourages me to have a night out with the guys. We don’t get into much trouble anymore like we did years ago, but she is supportive nonetheless. Some of my friend’s wives don’t realize how important this male bonding is for us. The camaraderie was part of us before we got married and losing it is like giving up an arm. Ok, maybe more like a finger. But it’s important nonetheless. And Shannon understands that.

On top of allowing me guy time, Shannon has been respectful of my manhood in other ways as well. That is until today. In all the years of our relationship she has never once asked me to purchase feminine products of any kind on her behalf. I always felt she understood how big a blow to a man’s self esteem it would be to stand in line with a gallon of milk in one hand and a box of tampons in the other. Vicious.

The more I thought about it though, the more I began to warm up to the idea. There was no sense of her going back to the store later. It’s only a couple miles away but, at today’s prices, could easily burn up fifty bucks or more in gas. And besides, I buy baby formula and diapers and that hasn’t killed me yet. So I decided to take the plunge. For the first time in my life I was going to buy some maxi-pads.

Before arriving at the store I mapped out my strategy. Pick up everything else on the list first, I thought, before hitting the final stretch. Browsing around I noticed this particular grocery store was obviously designed by a married man. I say that because the distance from the feminine products to the registers was approximately two feet. This makes it very easy to sprint the final leg, getting out of the store (and visibility) as fast as humanly possible. That’s exactly what I did. I scanned the checkout lanes ahead of time picking the closest female clerk available. Everything was going perfectly. One problem though, the lady ahead of me in line was paying with a check. And I guess it must’ve been from out of state or something because it was taking an eternity for her to finish.

As I stood there, my product selections in plain view, I realized a young single male had walked up behind me. He had a bottle of chardonnay under one arm and a box of condoms in his hand. The statement he was making to the world (or at least those of us in line with him) was “That’s right everyone, I’m going home to have sex with a girl.” Or at least I think it was a girl. Never can be too sure these days. Anyway, that’s why I knew he was single. His face was filled with pure optimism. Then he tuned his glance my way.

I did my best to cover the pads but with only a gallon of milk and a pack of gum it was no use. The guy let out a snicker at my expense and I didn’t say a word about it. I was too embarrassed. It was an internal conflict though because on the one hand, I wanted to knock this guy’s teeth down his throat to prove my manhood. And there’s nothing like picking a fight at the grocery store to demonstrate that. But the other side of me prevailed; realizing that pushing the issue further would only call more attention to the fact that I was buying feminine hygiene products. My statement to the world was, “Look everyone my wife wears the pants in my relationship. I have no backbone.”

Walking in the house I tossed the contraband on the kitchen table.

“Here,” I said to Shannon as she fed the baby.

“What’s your problem?” she asked, “I thought you weren’t going to get those for me.”

She was right. I only had myself to blame. And blame I did. The embarrassment was almost too much to bear. We had to schedule an emergency session of poker just to restore my testosterone to normal levels. It was awful. That night I vowed never again to make the mistake of purchasing another feminine product for my wife. That is unless, of course, it happens to be from Victoria’s Secret. In which case my man card may even get upgraded to platinum membership.