The Testosterone Zone
(*twilight zone music harping faintly in the background*)

Ahhhhh Father's Day.
That annual even where all the daddy's in the world can sit in their
favourite ugly chair all day while the family gathers around to revere them.
That day where they don't have to cut the lawn, bbq the hamburgers,
and can send the oldest child to the fridge every time he wants a beer.

But what to buy the dad that has everything.
I mean, Mr Happy has it all. Every power tool known to mankind, a beautiful
wife (cough), loving children, a house and home........

Get real, no man is every happy with his own power tools,
he has to have more. So i'm doing what every good wife will do.

Mr Happy is getting a gift certificate from the local testosterone store,
Canadian Tire. The Disney Land for men, the consumate "man store",
where manly men walk their manly walk.
I'm sure women are not allowed in this sanctuary.
Though I often sneak in....as an observer.

And ohhhh the observations.

The power tool section is where you find many species of manliness.
They truly speak a whole other language. Amidst grunts, an occasional
'sprocket' or '1/2 inch gauge' is heard....voices raised in anger when a certain
appliance doesn't turn on. Only to be silenced when MachoMan
realizes it's not plugged in or the battery pack isn't attached.
The surrounding manly men never laugh, they glare at the unsuspecting
employee, as if it's HIS fault the tool was not properly displayed.

Over in the tire section i've heard low rumblings of satisfaction as
Mr Universe carries a whole set of tires in one hand raised over his head,
the other pounding his chest, taking his purchases to his souped up '72
Impala.

Then to the lube section, you'll find your WD-40, WD-30,
muscle shirts and filthy hands perusing each aisle, picking
up Armour All stating how the dash will sparkle after the use of
that, the tires will gleam..... i always laugh when they glance across
the aisle at a bottle of Mr. Clean or Sunlight dishsoap, you can see the
curiousity written all over their faces, wondering what they are,
what use in life those products could possibly have.

I've seen them parade down car accessory aisles, the manliest of men
...picking up Yosemite Sam mudflaps, manly flaps they are, a car bra.....
a car bra???
Imagine my surprise.....fork out $30 for a good bra for their wife
is unheard of, but $270 for this leather CAR bra? Absolutely!
It's a fact of life, if your car has no bra, it's not a manly car,
if you have a truck and no bra....you might as well join the dweeb
hall of fame.

Anyway, all i want is a certificate. So Mr Happy can join his fellow man,
drifting through the store, sucking in his gut, squaring his shoulders,
sniffing loudly.... while stroking the fine power tools with tenderness and gentility
....whispering to them how they are loved, how they will never be lonely again....

No wonder wives get frustrated.
Perhaps if we could drill uniform holes in 8 inch oak with our finger,
or spit shine a tire as good as Armour All,
we'd be coddled and caressed.

Not to mention the fact, that he has a workshop filled with tools,
yet my roof needs to be fixed, my kitchen cupboards are half completed,
and there is no doornob for the bathroom.

And yet, as i squirt the dishsoap in the sink, after taking care of his
monstrous manly appetite, I know i will soon hear his tarzan yell from the
workshop.

And wonder...just how long before Damian and Lucifer follow in
their father's footsteps, before the tonka trucks and lego blocks
will no longer be manly enough.

When they too, will take those first steps into...

the testosterone zone.

Take me home! Main Dave's Chronicles

FastCounter by LinkExchange