We’ve got not one, but two major road trips planned for this year, which is unusual for us. In August we’re tentatively (or better) planning a trip out to Vancouver, but before that comes the trip where I’m hoping for a bit of advice. Near the end of May, we’re heading down to Georgia (just outside Atlanta) for a wedding. We’ll arrive a few days early, leaving us time for a full day at a beach along the Atlantic coast as well as the part of the trip we haven’t told the kids about yet — we’ve arranged for a three days and nights at a certain popular attraction in Orlando. Let it be said that the whole prospect of said overpopular attraction has never thrilled me. I’m not into rides or cartoon characters walking around, nor am I into the prices that said attraction commands. But this is for the kids. And the wife… though I’ve been assured I’ll enjoy it as well. Hey, vicarious enjoyment is still some kind of enjoyment, right?
I’m battling a cold at the moment… my wife is blaming germs picked up on my trip last week. She’s probably right, she’s like that. Typically right, I mean. Which is a good introduction to the other thing she said yesterday. Last week I was talking about masculinity and gender and what it means to be a Man™. I had pre-posted it to appear while I was traveling, but on the idea that sometimes men just don’t know what it is that women want from us, I dropped in a few questions about what a “real man” was. A few people riffed on it on their own blogs, and there were some good comments. But my favorite, of course, was my wife’s, yesterday. I’m in the kitchen, (mostly) minding my own business, and in response to something I said, she whirled around, jabbed her finger in the air in my general direction, and said, “Okay, that’s a man!” I was somewhat stunned, but now I have the answer.