My husband is a creature to be pitied. That is, if you believe the sympathetic comments he gets from readers who feel I expose him raw through my candid column. So this one's for him and all the other helpful, hands-on husbands who don't view the dishwasher as an insult to their masculinity.
My husband, I am not ashamed to admit, can iron circles around me. Not only is he good at it, he'll polish off an overflowing basket in about an hour while simultaneously watching cable TV and via his cell phone, smoothing out yet another television broadcast crisis at a race track half way across the country. Two hours and back-to-back episodes of Trading Spaces later, I'd still be wrestling with the inbred crease marks on a cuffed pair of non-wrinkle khakis.
Scott can take three dishes of unidentified leftovers out the fridge and turn them into a gourmet one-dish wonder with a skillet and a stovetop. We've had neighbor kids go home and ask their dads whey they can't cook like Mr. Rinehart. What they don't realize is that there are days Mr. Rinehart would starve if he waited for Mrs. Rinehart to plan a meal.
Once upon a time I said I married Scott because he knew the answers to all the obscure but burning questions like: When will reruns end and the new television season begin? What was the name of the paymaster on the USS Eldorado during Pearl Harbor? Who carried the ball on the 3rd down and 4 of the 1983 Alabama versus Penn State game? And why is film sold at 12, 24, and 36 exposures?
Okay, truth be told, he had a better temperament than I had and he was tall. Being Italian, opinionated, and short, I figured he'd give our children a fighting chance for normality.
These days, it's incredibly handy that he remembers his high school algebra and science so he can help our 13-year-old with his homework. Let me diagram a sentence to death, but please don't make me read an algebraic equation.
Now I don't know if your husband is like mine or like the ones portrayed in current television commercials. If you're not taking advantage of the break to go to the bathroom or change a load of laundry, you'd see the media painting American Dads as total Doofuses. “But they are Doofuses, Karen. They'd be helpless with out us,” argued one of the Bus Stop Mommies. “Yeah, well, let's just save that for the Bus Stop…. Work with me here. Christmas is coming, remember? Besides, the ironing basket overflow has reached crisis proportions again.”
The Orange Juice commercial is one of the worst. Picture a typical chaotic school morning with three kids of all ages running in and out of the kitchen, causing cereal explosions, hanging upside down out of chairs, yelling Indian war cries, gulping down orange juice, and generally creating all sorts of ruckus.
The mother, being a mother, smoothly hands out breakfasts, lunch boxes, shoes, and forgotten books two beats before the kids know it's forgotten and rush back in a panic to find it. All the while, the Doofus Dad is sitting at the kitchen table, smack in the middle of the tornado-like chaos, reading the paper. After the kitchen is quiet (and the mom is undoubtedly searching for the vodka to put in her OJ) the father looks up from behind his paper and innocently drones, “Are the kids awake yet?”
Another favorite is the Kenmore Blue Commercial, the Sears brand of residential carpet cleaners. The announcer chirps, “You need the new Kenmore Blue if you have pets, kids, or messy dads!” Can you just see the domestic scene with some Doofus Dad, after 40 years on earth, still unable to drink a coke without spilling it all over the family room floor? Kenmore Blue ranks dads right up there with two-year-olds and the family dog.
Then there's the Circuit City spot. The cashier is ringing up an overflowing cart of swanky electronics for a daddish figure and says, “Some kids are going to be real happy this Christmas!” Doofus Dad looks frantic and replies, “Kids?? (nervous chuckle) I'll be back!” He runs off into the store and the next thing you see is him back at the checkout with a gajillion more items. Now the cashier says, “My wife loves this DVD.” Pan to panicked Doofus Dad: “Uh, wife?” Off he runs again.
Let me tell you, if the dad in this household was that Doofus, I would have run off a long time ago.
Karen Rinehart is a magazine humor columnist, public speaker and the creator of The Bus Stop Mommies, a newspaper. She is also author of Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life. You can read more of her work at karenrinehart.net. Karen lives in Concord, North Carolina with her two kids, one husband and goofball dog, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dog at home.) She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan and England.
