Grillin’ season is upon us! Like most men, I take pride in my grilling skills. Marinating the meat, regulating the temp on the grill, getting the right amount of smoke — these are all things that excite me about grilling.
But probably the thing that I love most is when my family comes to hang out while I grill. We crank up some reggae music (always reggae while we grill; it’s become a tradition), we talk about whatever comes to mind, and we enjoy the smell of the meat searing over the coals. Truth be told, I probably stretch the grilling time out more than is necessary to enjoy this scenario.
Something happened earlier this week. I went out to dinner with my brother and cousin. The only problem is, my wife had said earlier in the day that we needed to grill the ‘chops in the fridge tonight or else they’ll go bad. But my brother and cousin had just moved home. I was excited to spend some time with them and we were commiserating over our hospitalized grandfather. I decided that the chops can wait another day. Then my world came crashing down.
My wife decided she’d go ahead and grill them. I didn’t think much of it. She is throwing dinner together solo, so who am I to complain that she’s using my grill? It’s one of those stupid man things, like touching our tools and mowing the yard properly. This is our realm. It’s best to just let us have it because, y’know, the male ego is a fragile one.
As she was grilling, she snapped me a few pics of the progress. I’ll admit: the chops looked good. But I was sure they’d eat ’em and decide that they weren’t quite as good as Dad’s.
I didn’t think much more about it until the next day. I brought some of the leftovers to work with me. I remember thinking to myself “heh, let’s see how she tried to measure up to … oh, damn, these things are delicious!” With each swallow of lunch, I swallowed a little more pride. I was outgrilled by my wife. It didn’t help that the last pork chops I grilled were a little extra charred. In fact, my kids didn’t even eat them.
A day passes, and upon returning home from my son’s football practice, I discover that she graced the grill again. This time, she threw some burgers on and #nailedit!
Ugh! Shown up by the wife on my own grill two nights in a row.
The timing is perfect: As Mother’s Day approaches, I’m reminded that my wife is more than just an amazing Mom. She slays at the “Dad Stuff” too, which is one of the things I love about her.
However, according to some idiotic male bylaw somewhere, I now have to make some public declaration and officially turn in my man card. So here you have it. It’s a tough road, but I’ll have to earn the man card back. I plan to start immediately by excessive use of a chainsaw in the back yard, working on some sort of mechanical repair in the garage and watching gangster movies from my recliner while drinking whiskey, all while grunting like Tim Allen: Argh Argh Argh…