An important part of being organized is being prepared. BO (born organized) women are always thinking ahead, especially in the kitchen. They know the value of hors d’oeuvres when it comes to men.
Men are weird when they’re hungry (especially tall ones). I learned that truth early in my marriage to Terry and we’ve been married 26 years. When we were first married and it was dinner time he used to always be ravenous and, quite frankly, I didn’t like him when he was that way. He was six feet, three inches of uncontrollable hunger and he’d drive me nuts as I worked in the kitchen!
He didn’t act mean or cranky like some men do; he just acted like he’d skipped his meds if he were supposed to take some. He’d sort of be a combination of Kramer (in the sitcom Seinfeld) and Barney Fife (in The Andy Griffith Show) on speed. He’d dart around the kitchen trying to get closer to the pending meal. He’d find difficulty concentrating and our kitchen just wasn’t big enough for both of us, when he’d be famished.
A famished man definitely acts differently than a famished woman. It doesn’t surprise me at all that Swanson didn’t name their large-portioned TV dinner, Hungry Woman Dinner, even though an average lady can put one away with no problem. No one addresses the idea of a hungry woman because, quite frankly, we never are. That’s because we snack.
From the time we’re youngsters; we spend more time in the kitchen and therefore have more access to food than men do unless they’re cooks or chefs. If we women work outside of our homes, we carry with us snacking patterns gleaned from generations of female snackers. I’d bet that more business women have snacks in their drawers at work than men do. And men don’t have purses (a natural snack pouch) in which to tuck treats.
I think if Terry thought he could get away with it, he’d barge into the kitchen, from a snackless day at the office and head straight to the nearest open container of food. He’d wolf down the main course right over the frying pan and slop the sauce de jour all over the front of himself. He’d cool his burnt tongue in a stream of cold water from the kitchen faucet and continue his dishless forage leaning over the sink as he crammed. He’d stuff his already packed mouth with a variety of miscellaneous edibles within reach and wash the remaining side dishes down with a pot of soup he’d missed in his initial culinary attack on the kitchen. He wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t think, he wouldn’t even taste, but he’d be full. It would take about five minutes.
So what’s the answer? Hors d’oeuvres! That thought hit me right between bites one night while I was fixing dinner. I suddenly realized something that could ultimately save 75% of couples who think they want to divorce, from the agony of disillusionment. (It might have even salvaged my first marriage, but that was too long ago to even think about. I’d decided I was going to apply it to my new husband.)
Men love hors d’oeuvres!