Whack those Weeds

In mid-June I faced my fears in the weed patch.  A few days later I was in the car with my husband.  We were on our way to pick up our son at a Boy Scout project in the local park, and I was going along because my husband didn’t know the way.   I broached the subject of the weed whacker.  I said, “I want you to show me how to use the weed whacker.”  A moment of silence, and then this from the Common Household Husband:  “You can’t use the weed whacker.  You wouldn’t know what to do if it malfunctioned.  Nope, you just can’t do it.”  


Me:  “But that’s why I want you to give me some directions on how to use it.”  


Husband, apologetically but firmly:  “No, you just can’t do it.  I mean, you have to.... you have to... you have to be a man to use the weed whacker.” 


Me:  “Hey!  I used to mow lawns all summer long when I was a teenager.  Of COURSE I can use the weed whacker.  I just need you to show me how to use it!”


Husband:  “You are not qualified to use it, if you have to ask how to use it.”


This line of reasoning belongs right in the same category as, “I don’t need to ask for driving directions.  Because I am a man.” 


Aghast at this unexpected display of male chauvinism, I nevertheless completed the task at hand.  I GAVE MY HUSBAND DRIVING DIRECTIONS on how to get to our destination.


We arrived and picked up our son.  As we headed home, conversing about the Boy Scout project, I suddenly let out a huge belch.  Sometimes, but not often, this just happens to me. In this case it was fortuitous.  That belch earned me the sudden respect of the Common Household Husband, who declared, “Well!  Okay!  I guess you ARE eligible to use the weed whacker!”


Eligible, maybe, but he still hasn’t given me my lesson.  If only I knew what the darn thing looks like, I would just find it in the garage myself and give it a try.  I will use directions given to me by that Great Non-Chauvinist Source: google.