A rare peek inside a weird and mysterious world
As any husband can attest, the process of a woman getting ready
is something that we don’t understand, don’t want to understand and
try to stay as far away from as possible.
Men jump in the shower, jump out, dry off, throw on some
deodorant, comb or gel our hair, get dressed and we’re off. It’s
almost like it’s a race sometimes.
A rare peek inside a weird and mysterious world
As any husband can attest, the process of a woman getting ready is something that we don’t understand, don’t want to understand and try to stay as far away from as possible.
Men jump in the shower, jump out, dry off, throw on some deodorant, comb or gel our hair, get dressed and we’re off. It’s almost like it’s a race sometimes.
When a woman gets ready, it’s like a Hollywood production. It’s not just a shower, it’s a process, involving various shampoos and lotions and gels and creams. And then there’s the makeup application and the plucking and the curling and the brushing and the blow-drying and other things involving stuff in the bathroom drawer that we men have no idea about.
Early in a relationship, men expect women to be quick at getting ready. Soon enough, usually after complaining about the process, we learn to accept it. We also learn to stay out of the way.
For the past week, this husband has not been able to stay out of the way. I’ve been deeply involved in the mysterious world of my wife getting ready because she recently had shoulder surgery and only has use of her left arm for the next few weeks.
I am doing my best to help her recuperate by being a supportive husband. We’ve switched sides in bed so I don’t accidentally roll onto her repaired shoulder during the night and I’ve learned to make her morning oatmeal just the way she likes it.
The scary and confusing part for me is helping with the getting-ready process. It has brought me into a world that I don’t understand and exposed my inability to properly wrap a towel around long hair.
My wife has relied on me to help her dry her hair during this recuperative period. I can handle putting a towel over her head, but I have never had to twist and wrap a towel and tuck it in behind the ears so that it looks like a beehive and stays put during the rest of the getting-ready process.
She has been relatively patient with me as I have learned the twist, lift and tuck process over the past few days, though she has laughed at my ineptitude a couple of times. When she does, I point at my short, spiky hair and ask her what she expects. I don’t use a comb or a brush or a blow dryer on my head. I grab some gel, run it through and I’m done.
Now I’m expected to create a foot-high, twisty tower of towel that will balance for half an hour on her head while she’s putting on whatever women put on in front of the mirror.
I am no hero. I am merely doing my job as a husband. I am happy to help. I really am. I just want to spend as little time as possible in the weird world of womanly prepping for the day. It’s confusing and scary and full of noise and powder and little sticks touching the eyelids.
I’m anxious to return to the times when my wife closes the door and 35 to 40 (or maybe 50) minutes later comes out all ready to go – like magic – with no help, and no towel rapping, from me.
Adam Breen teaches newspaper and yearbook classes at San Benito High School and is a reporter for The Pinnacle. He is former editor of the Free Lance. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].
