“Are you going somewhere?” Jerry asked me the other morning.

I said I wasn’t.

“You’re putting your war paint on. I thought that meant you’re going somewhere.”

Well, Jerry, it’s because I’m about to go on the warpath!

I’m ready! I’ve got my war paint on.

The words men use amuse me. I don’t personally know any woman who refers to make-up as war paint.

I got to thinking of other things men say, and women don’t. Here are some examples.

“I made three boring bars today.” Okay, maybe this is not what most men say, just guys like Jerry who have a metal lathe. Jerry announced this news to me this afternoon. Kidding, I asked, “Do you only make boring bars and not interesting bars?” I knew “boring bars” is machine tool-talk. I knew he meant he made metal tools that bore a hole in metal materials. Jerry smiled and showed me what is interesting about his boring bars. I was amazed to see the detailed tools he created out of scrap metal. But still, do you know any woman who has announced to you she made boring bars?  Maybe you do.

“Do we have a loaf of lettuce?” This is something I’m pretty sure only Jerry says. I have no idea why he calls a head of lettuce a loaf of lettuce, but it’s definitely different – one of the things I love about Jerry is he doesn’t stick to the “norm.” He has his own words and way of saying things that intrigue me. Curious how he would respond, I asked Jerry, “And do you have a head of bread?” He remained quiet, perhaps contemplating how to reply. Loaf of lettuce, sure. But head of bread? What sane person says that?

Jerry likes to assign ownership to me if I mention something I like. Say, for example, I tell him I like the color cobalt blue. At a later time, he’ll point to something in that color and say, “There’s your cobalt blue.” Jerry claims it for me. No one else owns cobalt blue. It’s mine.

He assigns ownership to me in other ways as well. Last night he said, “Bronwyn, I found your booby trap.” Apparently one of the cats had hacked up a hairball in a spot where Jerry stepped. I would argue it’s the cat’s booby trap. But no. It’s mine. I train the cats to strategically hack hairballs in places where Jerry steps.

The other day Jerry and I had plans and I was in the process of getting ready so we could leave. Jerry asked me, “How late will you be?” This question sounded like a judgment on the probability of me not being punctual and not ready on the agreed departure time. I answered, “What do you mean, how late will I be? I won’t be late.”

Jerry said, “I only asked because I wanted to watch the last 10 minutes of this TV program and so if you’re late, I can watch it.”

“Couldn’t you have asked me in a different way, like ‘would you mind if I watch the last 10 minutes of this program?’”

Jerry thought about this, and then said, “Yes, I could have but I thought the way I asked was clear.”

“No Jerry, it was not clear. You made it sound like I’m always late.”

“No, I meant if you’re late. You sometimes are,” he said, seeming confused by my sudden irritation.

I returned to the bathroom to continue applying my war paint and making sure my spear was easy to grab should I need it in a hurry.

βω♥