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Written by Tom & Joe
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Tom says... Sometimes things can be summed up so succinctly in one or two words—even a universal concept such as communication between men and women.
The other day during our morning show, my on-air partner Joe was relating a story of an exchange he had had with his wife Alanna. He’s cracking me up with not only the effusive way he’s relating the events, but also, because, as a man, I understand his pain.
It seems that he was in the basement and needed a plastic bag and called up to Alanna to toss one down to him. Her response was to ask, “Did you look behind the door in the basement?” At this point in the story we both look at each other with that dumb, furrowed brow look that all men assume when confronted with such a query. It’s a look that simply says, “What?”
You see, as a gender, we are simple people. If you try and challenge us to think or react to anything beyond what is on our mind at that instant, we will disappoint you every time.
Case in point: Joe had not, of course, looked behind the door. He only knew one place in the house to find plastic bags. As men, that’s enough information for that section of the brain to handle. Alanna knew this, but like all good women, chose to challenge Joe to think, in hopes he had found the room in his brain to store two plastic bag locations.
If a woman ever asks a man something and the sentence includes “did you” (or “didja”) it’s just not going to turn out well for either party. The man will be frustrated because of course...he didn’t...and the woman will be disappointed because once again we have failed you.
This is universal, it is cross-cultural, it is interplanetary! And yet, both men and women continue to challenge the concept. As men we’ll risk being confronted with a “didja” when we seek praise. You see, even if you accomplish something and go running to a woman looking for accolades, you’re still open to a “didja” and chances are you’ll get hit with one.
While Joe amused me with his story of this universal truth, I got to thinking about something my wife, Special K, had recently asked me to do. It was to build a new shelving unit for the shed. At first, I was eager to please, and after my obligatory two week procrastination, was about to build it, when I got to thinking of the inevitable “didja” coming my way. I could have built the shelving and reported back to Special K, but I knew the “that’s great honey” would have quickly been followed by “and didja clean out and sort the stuff in the shed onto the new shelves?” Not wanting to disappoint anyone, the new shelving unit remains in the box.
Special K understands, and I appreciate that. In fact, the other day I heard her ask one of the kids if he would build the shelves. He immediately said yes. The young, they’re so naive. He has no idea what’s coming. Should I warn him? No. Some things a man has to learn on his own.
Joe says...
When I related my “didja” story to Tom, I thought it was a little anecdote that a lot of guys could relate to; definitely something that we have all heard at least once. Then, later at home, as I was about to give my grass it’s first cut of the year, I realized this “didja” thing might go a lot deeper than with just our mates.
Yup, June has come to a close and we saw Father’s Day and the world’s toughest TV dad, Tony Soprano, come and go. Tony had to sit through therapy to find out that a lot of his issues were rooted in his relationship with his momma, but faster than you can say “bada bing”, this Italian kid realized my “didja” issues started with my dad.
Yes sir, I was tinkering with my lawnmower, trying to get it started, when it dawned on me that I hadn’t done what my Dad had told me to do at the end of the last grass cutting season: “Make sure you empty out the gas tank or else the gas could go bad and it will gum up the line and it won’t work in the spring.”
Well, after an hour of trying to get the mower going on my own (didn’t get the handyman gene from Dad, that went to my brother), I had to do what I was cringing about all afternoon: call Dad and see if he could figure out how I could get it working.
So there I was with the phone in one ear while trying to follow his instructions about checking this and checking that and looking for something he called a primer (I thought he wanted me to paint something!). I could hear the frustration in his voice. You know that tone, where you just know he’s saying to himself “there is no way this could be my kid!”
I had to deliver him one more grey hair moment that would only make Paulie Walnuts proud, when I told him I couldn’t find the “primer” on the lawnmower. The following conversation was recorded by the FBI (Full-Blooded Italian):
Dad: “Didja do what I told you last fall?”
Me: “Uh, what was that Dad?” (hoping his memory would fail him this one time).
Dad: “Didja remember to siphon the gas?” (knowing very well that I hadn’t).
Me: “Uh.....Yeah!”(small white lie).
I thanked him for his help and told him I’d call him back if I couldn’t get it started after his consultation. Then I called my brother and had him come over and figure it out. It took him two minutes: apparently I wasn’t pulling the “choke” back far enough. Funny that it was the “choke”, because that’s probably what my Dad would be thinking about doing to me if he’d had to come over.
“Didja” ever tell a white lie to get out of a “didja” situation?
Or as a tough guy on The Sopranos would say, “didja...huh, didja?”h� |
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