Call it vanity, arrogance ...when I signed on as a stay a home dad I assumed there’d be mothers stepping over one another to help guide me through the trials and tribulations of my new job. I miscalculated. To the contrary, gaining admission into the sorority of stay at home mom’s has been impossible. I’ve tendered numerous applications on my sojourns into Mom Land and have been rebuffed at nearly every turn. Case in point. I was attempting to make a ratatouille awhile back and was shopping at Whole Foods for one of its ingredients – a Japanese eggplant. Shocked that Japan even had its own eggplant, I searched and searched, but the closest thing I could find was – are you ready for this – a Chinese eggplant; given their geographical proximity, it seemed logical to me that a Chinese eggplant was more like a Japanese eggplant than, say, an American eggplant. But was it suitable for my recipe?
For the answer to this, and perhaps more, I approached what looked to be a mom and politely asked if she’d be kind enough to explain to me, once and for all, the difference between a Japanese and Chinese eggplant. After looking me up and down, she snorted some sound of disapproval and walked away. Just like that. Why, the contemptuous look, I wondered? You would have thought I had asked her to shack up with me. As I stood there in the middle of the produce aisle, stunned by her behavior, and the mind-numbing possibility that every country in the world had its own eggplant, I arrived at a painful realization: other than my wife, whose only visits to our kitchen were on her way to our garage, women didn’t trust me in my new role. I was alone.
Back in the old days, when I was a younger man and single, a trip to the grocery store would be prompted by one of two events: either I had run out of toilet paper or I needed a last minute date for Friday night. Placed in this context, I guess, the question “Can you tell me the difference between a Chinese and a Japanese eggplant?” could have, to the jaded listener, sounded like a corny pick up line. But it wasn’t. I am a happily married man seeking nothing more than good advice on how I can be the best stay at home dad I can possibly be. Now when I ask about eggplants, remarkably enough, I really do want to know about eggplants. But most women seemed unable to accept this.
Overtime, and contrary to my nature, I found myself limiting my questions to employees of the stores I would visit. This proved inconvenient; employees weren’t always easy to find and when I did find them they were usually helping someone else. It all felt like such a waste. I’m a gregarious soul who loves talking to people, and to not be able to talk to women whom I suddenly had all these new things in common with felt like such a missed opportunity. But then something miraculous happened.
I was at Ralph’s. At the onset of my shopping I had placed some sunflowers in my cart. I love sunflowers. Rose and I have this white and gold-gilded vase on our piano in which they look magnificent. Anyway, glutton for punishment that I am, I approached a woman in the Dairy section who didn’t seem terribly rushed and asked her if the store had a special cheese section in addition to the cheeses there in Dairy where we were standing. I couldn’t believe her response. “Oh, yes,” she said, with an energy and kindness bordering on bubbly, “It’s at the front of the store on the other side.” I thanked her and turned to leave, when she called back to me. “And they’ve got crackers there that are much better than the ones in the Bread and Crackers section.” I could have passed out from gratitude. I thanked her profusely. So much that she might have thought I was nuts. It had to be a fluke, I thought to myself. She’s probably the only receptive woman in the store ... or maybe she liked my shirt. But on my way to the special cheeses the rarity of her response compelled me to approach another woman standing in Frozen Foods.
“Excuse me,” I said, reassuringly, “I’m somewhat new to all of this, and I wonder if you could recommend a reliable name in frozen vegetables?” Waiting for her to call security, I was shocked yet again. “Well, fresh is always a better way to go,” she said warmly, “But if I was forced to pick one brand, I’d probably go with Birds Eye.” Something unexplainable was occurring. And I liked it. Sensing that I was on the cusp of some major discovery, I pushed my cart further and boldly approached a woman loitering in Seasonings. “Why would one use a dry bay leaf as opposed to a fresh bay leaf?” I asked, wrinkling my nose in wonder. Unlike the frozen vegetable question, I wanted to know the answer to this one. She responded somewhat embarrassed, “You know, I really don’t know ... I’ll be honest, I’m not the greatest cook. But I know one thing,” she said, staring at my cart. “I love your sunflowers.” BINGO! It was the sunflowers!
I pushed my cart further, and noticed women of all shapes and sizes and ages and nationalities, smiling at first my flowers, then at me, making eye contact. I don’t know if they thought I was cute, or gay, or what, but the flowers somehow disarmed them. Everywhere I turned I found acceptance. No longer a dark threatening male figure but a lover of flowers, I pushed my cart confidently through the aisles – even the ones I had no business on – basking in the smiles of my new-founded sisters. Do we not all cook! Do we not all clean! Yes, this was the communal feeling I had been seeking, for months now, since assuming my new position as a stay at home dad.
You see, a guy running a house – he needs all the help he can get. And if I need to ask some questions to get the job done, then damn it, that’s what I’m going to do. Because now, I’m not just some confused guy bumbling his way through a grocery store: I’m a confused guy bumbling his way through a grocery store with flowers. Talk to me ...
Don Seigel is a comedy writer and producer whose credits include such hits as the "Golden Girls" "The John Larroquette Show" and "Frasier". He lives in Calabasas with his Cuban wife and stepson.