Bimbo and Pierce came over with the Two Little Angels on Saturday for a barbecue.
While Bimbo and I poured juice for the girls and something a little stronger for ourselves, Pierce trotted over to Solicitor who had glued himself to the spot in front of the grill.
Both men looked at the pieces of meat on the grill for a few minutes, while Solicitor occasionally shifted them with a large pair of tongs. They nodded. Gestured. Solicitor poked the meat. Pierce nodded and folded his arms, never taking his eyes off the grill.
Solicitor moved marginally to his left to pull out a couple of beers from the cool box. They cracked open the beers. Took a sip. Looked at the grill.
I could tell Pierce was dying to hold the tongs, but the unsaid rule of barbeques is; the man of the house is the only one that gets to hold the tongs.
Bimbo and I launched into a “you never guess who I saw” “you won’t believe what happened” type conversation.
I thought about what a role reversal in this situation would be; if I were standing at the grill pushing around the meat.
Bimbo would trot over kiss me on the cheek and say “Do you need a hand?”
I’d hand her the tongs and say “Sure, can you turn the meat while I sort out our drinks.”
Solicitor would go to the fridge and pull out the beers for himself and Pierce. I’d call out “Can you grab the ice bucket!” as he goes into the house.
I’d fix Bimbo and I some kind of cocktail and we’d leave the meat to cook as we socialised with the boys and entertained the Little Angels. I’d occasionally check to see how the meat was cooking; unless I was otherwise engaged, in which case I’d ask the nearest person to check it out.
By the end of the day, everyone would have had a go at holding the precious tongs.
As it stood on Saturday, Solicitor was the tong-holder. He took the responsibility very seriously. Pierce, who didn’t want to be out done, advised him every so often with “Yep, it looks cooked.” Solicitor would answer with “Another couple of minutes. Just to be on the safe side.”
I mentioned my role reversal idea to Solicitor later that night, as we lounged about.
“Don’t be stupid. women can’t do the barbecue.”
“I see. So we can cook, but turning meat on a grill is a little above our understanding, is it.”
“Sweetie, I love you. But there are some things only a man should do.” He cooed, stroking my hair.
“Like changing lightbulbs?”
“And catching spiders?”
“And talking out the bin?”
“Look, I know you’re a woman, but you don’t have to nag!”
“I’m just doing my job, Sweetie.”