“LIFE is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” Er... no Forrest Gump – despite what your Mama may have told you, you DO know what you’re going to get in a box of chocolates. You just have to read that little menu that comes with it telling you what each one is.
What is it with men and their inability to read instructions or printed material and their bizarre belief that manuals are for wimps?
As for asking for directions, you may as well give up now and prepare yourself for a lengthy car journey.
Now I’m not usually one to make sweeping generalisations of the sexist variety, but I have carried out a scientific study (well, I’ve spoken to some female friends and colleagues anyway) and I can ascertain this is the absolute truth. It seems the majority of menfolk are born with a defective gene that renders them incapable of stopping to look at the small print or any print for that matter, before diving in.
What is the point of shoving chocolates randomly into your mouth and then grimacing “Yuk” as you realise you’ve bitten into a Turkish Delight or a Coffee Cream? Would it not be easier to take a few seconds to peruse the chocolate menu and find one you know you like?
And rather than rapidly trying to piece together flat pack furniture using the trial and error method, only to find an assortment of “spares” left over that are integral to stopping the whole thing collapsing, would it not be better to spend a few minutes reading the accompanying instruction booklet?
I know most women will be nodding their heads in agreement as they read these words and recognise them as actions portrayed by their other half.
But come on men, you too must admit there’s more than a kernel of truth in what I say?
I know absolutely without a shadow of a doubt that these instruction-hating, directions-shirking, advice-shunning men definitely exist.
That’s because I’m married to one. The usually sensible Hubby, whose role is usually to keep me grounded when it comes to my pie-in-the-sky schemes, suddenly throws caution to the wind when faced with any pieces that need piecing together jigsaw style.
Granted, I will begrudgingly admit that in most cases, he does in fact manage to achieve the correct end result, but why take the gamble of it all going terribly wrong?
But my biggest bugbear is categorically his inability to ask for directions and many a time I’ve been subjected to infuriatingly long car journeys or painfully long hikes while Hubby mutters: “I’m sure it’s just around the corner.”
He would sooner waste half a tank of petrol going the “scenic route” than admit defeat and ask a random passer-by or confess he does need the Sat Nav after all.
It seems he’s not alone as research reveals that men clock up an average of 276 miles a year driving around aimlessly without asking for directions. The lost driving time apparently costs men up to £2,000 in petrol over a lifetime.
When I gleefully went to tell Hubby these findings in a: “I rest my case” tone of voice, his comeback took the wind out of my sails as I couldn’t dispute it, certainly not in my own case.
“Well most women can’t read maps!” He retorted.