Wait, I Can Fix That for You

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, in a living room not very far away, there was a damsel in distress. Well, maybe "distress" is a bit dramatic, but she did have a problem that needed solving. As her knight in shining armor wasn’t far off, she thought, why not run her concern by him? He might listen and possibly offer a suggestion. But, as so often happens when men are asked to weigh in on something, things quickly spiraled out of hand.

“Hey hon, I’m having a little trouble deciding on the final color scheme for the barbecue fundraiser we’re hosting next week, and I wanted to get your thoughts on using yello—” the damsel began. She hadn’t even finished her thought when, quicker than a flash, he was already on his phone, typing away like a man on a mission. Thinking maybe he hadn’t heard her or, worse, was ignoring her, she tried again.

“Hon, please stop typing! I just need two minutes of your time. I’m trying to find the right color napkins to match our theme, and the event planner is no help. I can’t seem to find the right shade—”

Without so much as a pause, he snapped: “No, I heard you. You’re having a problem finding something yellow, and you want to fire the event planner. I’m on it. I’ll find you a new event planner and order whatever it is you’re looking for. I’m online right now searching for ‘yellow barbecue decorations available for immediate delivery’ and have already lined up a new event coordinator. She’ll be here at noon. You don’t have to thank me—it’s my job to fix any problem you might have.”

Sigh. There it was, one of the eternal and seemingly unsolvable mysteries between men and women: what she says (or tries to), what he hears (but doesn’t), and what she actually wants (an ear) versus what he assumes she wants (a full-on rescue mission).

By now you’ve probably guessed—the damsel in distress is me. And I was this close to exploding when my phone rang. My best friend Amy listened to my rant for about thirty seconds before offering the best solution I’d heard all day: “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Do you ever deal with this kind of thing with Mike?” I asked, still fuming. “I don’t get it—guys don’t listen. They just charge ahead, fixing whatever they think needs fixing, without even asking if that’s what we want.”

“Are you kidding?” she replied. “All. The. Time. Last week, I casually mentioned I was having problems with my computer monitor flickering. I thought it just needed a new cable, so I ordered one online. But that wasn’t fast—or dramatic—enough for Mike. Next thing I know, he’s shut down my laptop, losing all my open files in the process. Then, he uninstalled and reinstalled the monitor software. When that didn’t work, he dismantled the entire screen to ‘find the real source of the problem.’”

Amy threw up her hands in mock defeat. “By the time he put it back together, there were extra pieces leftover. We ended up having to order a new monitor. I know he was just trying to help, but seriously, who asked for all that?”

Hearing Amy’s “helpful hubby” tale of woe lifted my spirits. Inspired, I decided it was time for a heart-to-heart with my own “fixer.” Thanking him for his assistance, I gently explained that I hadn’t wanted him to do anything—I just wanted him to listen. “Okay, you’re welcome, but I don’t understand,” he replied. “Why bring up your concern in the first place if you didn’t want me to fix it? You know I’m really good at solving problems.”

And there it was—the classic stumbling block. Despite everything women have done to prove otherwise, men often still see us as “damsels in distress” and themselves as “knights in shining armor,” ready to slay any dragon that even might pose a threat.

“I know you’re a great fixer, honey,” I said with a smile. “Maybe next time, just let me finish my sentence, okay?” Giving him a hug, I silently vowed to be more careful with my phrasing in the future. I hadn’t completely solved the challenge of slowing down my very own “solver-in-chief,” but maybe—just maybe—he’ll listen next time before charging off to slay the dragon.

A little while later, I heard the unmistakable “beep-beep-beep” of a truck backing up our driveway. It was Amazon, delivering three full pallets of party supplies in the brightest shade of yellow you’ve ever seen. I have no idea what we’re going to do with all this stuff, but I couldn’t help smiling. I may not be a true damsel in distress, but I married the cutest knight in shining armor on the block.

© 2024  Annie Sokoloff