We got a call early in the afternoon yesterday. It was an invitation for an impromptu 4th of July get together. There were four families in all totaling twelve kids ranging from ages one to thirteen. The family’s farmhouse we met at is on plenty of land and so there was ample place for the kids to play. Eight of the twelve kids have parents who are (among other things) farmers so they know their way around a farm. Our kids were a little out of their element but blended in nicely and had a blast. There was grilling. There was homemade ice cream. There was a good time had by all.
Let’s rewind a bit to moments before the phone call that kicked this whole event off. I was sort of in a blah mood and just wanted some alone time. The wife had recently bought an above ground pool with the last of her blow money from when she worked at the pet store and the water was finally ready to swim in (our garden hose does not go through the water softener so we had some rust issues with the water, something my wife was trying to remedy with [among other things] placing tube socks on both the in and out filters [perhaps this whole string of events deserves its own blog entry]). The wife and kids and 2/3 of the dogs were outside and I was watching sitcom getting what I wanted, alone time. Thirty minutes later, the phone rang, promises to bring chips and salad were made, and we had plans for the evening. Plans, plans that included me NOT being alone but rather spending time with (3) other men that are so manly that I might not even score high enough on the man charts to be in their presence. I knew going in that unless I steered the conversation bus for the evening that I was going to be hopelessly trapped in discussions about trucks, tractors, chickens (or pigs [or both]), farming techniques and probably a brief dialogue about smelling bad after doing some unpleasant (but necessary) farm related task.
To be truthful, only two of the men were in this super manly category. The 3rd man was an engineer for an automotive company. This gave him a tactical advantage in that he at least knows about cars and engines and can have something (potentially) to add to a conversation about trucks and tractors (and since we was likely more manly than I [just going with the odds here] he could add to the “smelling bad” portion of the conversation). We all attend the same church (and even transact the sale of farm fresh eggs after service) so I could only hope that we ended up discussing the modern uses of some remote verse stuck in one of the minor prophets. We also had having kids and wives in common. But, history with these other two men told me that family life would only have a minor role in the play probably getting equal billing with “smelling bad”.
OK, let me get to the blog title. One time during the evening I headed into the house to get something to drink. We had just finished four innings of kick ball and I was wore out. The kick ball game was fun. I had not played in probably 25 years but I still got “it” (well at least compared to 11 year old girls and other 40 year old men). Anyway, I walked into the house where the wives were and ended up right at the end of a discussion that finished with the line, “Can you send me that recipe for homemade deodorant?”
I think that if you would have asked me 20 years ago to place a wager on whether or not I would ever hear that particular question in my life that I would have bet the house on “no”. I am glad I did not make that bet. These wives (including mine) are always looking to 1) try things that are more natural and 2) save money. In that vein, taken to the extreme, you can see how this kind of subject came up and how homemade deodorant recipe swapping might ensue. However, there are plenty of other things that I think I would try out that were homemade than deodorant. Even Señor Google agrees…
Almost all common searches starting with the word homemade are about food. Laundry detergent tops the list strangely though (and yes we did try making our own homemade laundry detergent before).
Anyway, based on the wife’s intense staring at her HP netbook this morning, I fear for the worse when it comes to the future of my personal fumigant. I will try to keep you posted.
Jon
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