The Missing Gene


I must be missing an important part of the female chromosome. It's the part that loves to pick out kitchen cabinets and new sinks and stuff. Because frankly, I'm not enjoying it at all.

As soon as my husband and I walked into the kitchen supply store this weekend, I got a driving pain over my right eye. I didn't want to be there, because there was too much to look at for too much money. Besides, I pretty much knew what I wanted. If only there was a kitchen display with what I had in mind all laid out for me. But no. We'd have to sift through sample cabinet doors, slabs of Quartz and lots and lots of knobs.

The kitchen designer kept turning to me for my opinion on cabinet styles and countertop material, but my husband was the one to answer her questions. I just pointed and grunted like a cavewoman picking out which rock she wanted for her new cave. I was that enthusiastic.

I suppose the kitchen is supposed to be my domain, but really, my husband is the chef in the family. I get the rushed weekday meals between school and sports, while he makes lovingly crafted (and really, really long to prepare) weekend and holiday meals, inspired by Emeril Legasse or "Iron Chef." So he cares a lot about whether our new utensil drawer is "soft-closing," while I'm more interested in when all this stuff is going to be delivered, thereby taking up my side of the garage.

Perhaps it's the same female gene dysfunction that sucks the happiness out of me when I walk into a shoe store. I don't understand why women love shoes so much, when the vast majority of women's shoes are uncomfortable if not bordering on torturous. Take me to the shoe department at Sports Authority, and I'm at home. But show me a peek-toed wedge with 3 ¼ heel and suddenly, I'd rather go barefoot.

We've decided that my husband should be the one to sit down with the kitchen designer and plan out our new kitchen. Good plan, because just thinking about it gives me a sharp pain over my right eye.