"His Place" :

I did something extraordinary leading up to Christmas; I ventured, all alone, into the hermetically (himetically?) sealed world of the hardware store. The place where sons of Adam take pride in dominating over everything created in metal and wood. Where the only other place a man can feel more like man's man is in his own private Eden—his backyard shed.

I was looking for one of those rotisserie things you attach to a barbeque. I thought it might make an interesting and novel Christmas gift for my other half since the barbie is, without question, his domain. Actually, I think its one of man's most primal urges to want to cook meat over an open fire. It's like "Me big brave hunter—take care of steak and sausages. You, little woman—gatherer of salads and burger buns."

Yes, real men know how to handle a barbie!

But I digress...

So anyway, back to the hardware store where a most affable store assistant approached me. He seemed kind of impressed that I knew the exact make and model of our barbie and began a long explanation about how to install the nifty gadget. I was feeling kind of flattered that he, of the male species, would share his 'superior' knowledge of such complex things as 'drill bits' and 'brackets' with me—one of the mere female variety.

Then, I mentioned my mate and he immediately cut the tutorial short, telling me: "Oh, don't worry then, he'll know how to do it for sure." I felt desolated! I felt deflated! Damn it, I felt dethrone from my position of gender equality! Well, the male of the species giveth, and the male of the species taketh away.

So, I told him, "Sure he will—if it come with full instructions."