"Did you bring me something to eat?" He laughs and ignores my hope that someday he'll bring something tasty for me to sample. He comes in almost every Sunday and must own at least 100 cookbooks.... if not more. I help him find and order books each week. I've known him for over two years now. He's given up trying to have a meaningful conversation with me about cooking or recipes. He knows I don't cook and although I try hard to focus on his discussion of chefs or ingredients...my eyes glaze over and I want to shout...."Please...you cook....I'll set the table and bring the wine." Which I believe is my automatic response to any who man tries to talk recipes with me.
Early in my adult life, I accepted my cooking disability and made an important decision. I would never fall in love with a man who didn't or wouldn't cook for me. In fact, I developed a philosophy about men who cooked....believing they were analytical but sensuous, logical but also generous. When I was dating my husband, he mentioned he could bake cookies....and zoomed to the top of my interesting man list. I also have a theory about left-handed men who cook...but ...that's another story.
British Cooking Man is hot on the trail of a Mexican cookbook today so we head down the aisle towards the appropriate shelf. Midway there, we have to step over a woman who is sprawled out onto the floor with a notebook and a cookbook. It's not unusual to find women on the floor of the cooking aisle....apparently recipes....interesting recipes.....make them weak in the knees and they collapse right there on the spot to read them....or they come prepared with a notebook to copy recipes. I've watched women create an entire dinner party menu from appetizers to deserts while sprawled in our aisles. I wonder why they don't get up and simply carry the books to a table. Perhaps they would feel guilty copying the recipes since everyone would see what they were doing.... I guess it's better to block an aisle and pretend you accidentally fell to the floor in a most unusual spasm taking a notebook, pencil, and cookbook with you to the ground.
British Cooking Man walks off with his new prize. I find another book out of place propped up against a shelf. It's called, "The Game." It's an instructional pick-up manual for men. I pop it open and cringe. Sometimes I'm not thrilled to learn about how men think. This is ..unique....the book suggests a man carry a bit of lint around with him. You see... if you're near a beautiful woman out in public you can toss a lint on her when she's not looking and then gallantly say to her, " You have some lint on your sweater." The woman will assume you are kind and gallant man because you saved her from social embarrassment. She will now smile and talk to you.....a man she would have never paid any attention to before .......but now that you are her lint-knight in shining armor.....she will gaze at you appreciatively.
I pop the manual back in the shelf and make a note to be suspicious of any man who has lint discussions with me. I head back to the desk and see the Cross-Dresser is cruising into the Sci-Fi section. Cross -Dresser is a man who comes in mostly dressed as a woman. Today he is wearing a purple minister's shirt and collar (his male half) tucked into a tight fitting black skirt with black hose and black high heel shoes. His short gray hair is in a pony-tail with numerous bobby-pins holding his hair in place. He doesn't wear make-up and he usually is ....half and half ....in gender apparel. He has a killer taste in high heels....I'm envious of the gorgeous classy shoes he wears (obviously expensive) and his ability to walk in those spike heels in a non-challent manner ( I can wobble if I'm out of practice). He also has drop-dead shapely shaved legs. He's been coming into the store in his half and half attire since I started here...five years ago.
I remember the first time I met Cross-Dresser. I was heading out of the store; he was heading into the store. I had a white oxford shirt on, black skirt, fishnet stockings (there's a long story behind the stockings) and black heels. He was wearing.... almost.... the exact same outfit. A white men's shirt, black skirt, fishnets, and heels. We stared at each other. I remember I told him I liked his shoes. He told me he liked my fishnets. I walked out of the store thinking...wow....isn't this a great place to work?
