Man v Meat (Andra will love this title)

Andra this post is for you.

Some people want to have an interesting experience in life. They want the thrill and excitement of the unknown, so they choose to do life risking activities like skydiving or bungee jumping or climbing rock walls.

Me? Nah.

I go to the grocery store. Yep. That’s right. Do you know what it is like to live in a relatively small town? Some of you do, some of you don’t.

Do you know what it’s like to live in a relatively small American town and be one of the only people there with a British accent?

I do.

But we will come back to that in a bit. First, the post title. Man V Meat. No, no of course this is not a famous case about a man suing Oscar Meyer. This is daily life.

Have you ever seen those guys who clearly think that anything at the butcher shop wrapped in cellophane is a foreign object from another planet that can only be investigated through careful prodding, poking and verbal assault?

Here is an example. The guy who looks at the meat from a distance first, inching closer with one sliding foot shuffle at a time. When he is in reach, he leans down as though he is inspecting it through a microscope, then extends his hand and quickly draws it back as if the meat has somehow threatened him.

After a few repeats of this interesting man ritual he will finally get up the courage to actually touch the package. He will then poke it a few times to ensure that the animal is actually dead and not just seriously maimed. Once he has established his dominance over the meat, he will lift the package and then set it back down. Lift the package and then set it back down again, before finally saying “Shit,” and walking away.

 

This is a mystery. Women will move the packages while considering the best deal and trying to find the best looking one, but we will usually choose something…eventually.

Today I did something that no woman has ever done before. I convinced a man to buy a package of meat. No, really. I can hardly believe it myself.

This poor fellow was looking at lamb shank. And he was clueless. I’m not even sure he knew which animal it came from. So, for once, he actually looked up and asked me how you would go about preparing something like this. Here was the gist of the conversation:

 

Meat guy: Excuse me miss, I have no idea how you would go about cooking this.

 

Me: There are many ways.

 

Meat guy: ? (Frightened look.)

 

Me: Giggle. (It may have been the accent that threw him for a moment. I will give him time to reevaluate.)

 

Meat Guy: It will be tough if I BBQ it, right?

 

Me: You could slow roast it for a few hours at a low temperature and then season it and put it on the grill.

 

Meat guy: (Terrified look) that sounds like a lot of work.

 

Me: (Determined to succeed.) It really isn’t too bad. It just takes a while.

 

Meat guy: (Indecision clear on his face…) I guess I could give it a try. Hey, thanks. (A smile. oh my he actually smiled.)

 

Me: Have a lovely day.

 

He actually bought it. He didn’t put it back even. I watched him go through the register later. Seriously. No poking, prodding, swearing. I’m sure that will come later when he attempts to cook it. The point is, I have taught a man to shop for a single item. Must note this day in history.

 

Now back to the accent. We all stereotype sometimes, right?

 

When did a British accent suddenly make one an expert on certain things? I’m buying a bit of cheese and some other deli pleasantries this afternoon and what happens? A woman waiting in line next to me turns to me and says. There is always a wait here. We exchange a few polite words. She then says “Oh, you’re British! Can you recommend a cheese to go with this wine? I know very little about this stuff and you people know so much about wine and cheese.”

You people?

 

First of all, there was no You People because there was just me at that point. So it would have been you person. I know naught about wine other than that if I drink enough of it everyone is suddenly funnier and has a twin or …two. I do know quite a lot about cheese. Love that cheese. But what is it about an accent that makes someone think the person with it is so much different than they are? I hear these things all the time so and so ethnic group is good at this sport. blah blah race is better and more intelligent than this other whoopedeedoo. It irks me. So I did recommend a cheese, but only because I like it. If it rots in her gut with the wine she chose I will almost feel bad. If I ever see her again.

 

So this nearly concludes my pointless post.

 

right

after

this

…

I am giving up the words ”           ”       and ”            ”     for the rest of this week. They are too obviously British and I am tired of everyone asking me to repeat them. So if I slip and you hear me say either ”             ” or ”          ” spank me.   I can’t actually type them because that would constitute me saying them and then you would get to smack me on the arse.

 

Thank you for your support. XO IO