Wait for it …

I would like to talk about a serious problem. Something so rampant and disturbing that there should be a slew of 501c3 organizations dedicated to eradicating it. Maybe even a telethon. Waiting for my femme to get ready.

I feel like I spend half my life waiting for her to be ready. Ok, that’s an exaggeration. It’s probably only a quarter of my life. But still.

Let me paint the picture for you. We are going out for the evening, meeting some friends for cocktails, say, at 8:00. (Don’t laugh, we are old and can’t be going out at 10!) Both of us are in the bedroom/bathroom getting ready. If we do that at the same time, I will be ready in about half the time as my femme. Then, it’s time for me to wait. And wait, and wait.

Over the years I have developed several strategies for dealing with this excess time spent waiting. Of course, the most ideal result would be to speed her up. So, I have tried offering any assistance that I could to help – getting clothes out, running to the car for makeup, fishing a bra out of the laundry, packing up the car – anything that might reduce her prep time. All to no avail. It is not that she does not appreciate it, she does. I think the bottom line though is that she needs 45 minutes to an hour to get ready no matter what. This is true whether we are getting ready for a black tie affair or a quick trip to Starbucks. Really. 45 minutes to an hour. What takes so long? She is already gorgeous. Hair, face, clothes. Always.

Why doesn’t it take longer to do the black tie “evening glamour” make up and dressing than it does the “every day” Starbucks prep? It’s an enigma. Anyway, she does not appreciate being rushed. “Are you rushing me?” I am asked when I innocently offer to do something for her during her prep routine. “No, no, honey, of course not.” Right.

Another strategy is to just wait. I give her a head start. During this period, I take the time to catch up on Facebook, read a magazine, or just guy out (“guy out:” the state of being in personal bliss by not thinking of anyone or anything, being unresponsive to questions, or having a slightly dopey look on one’s face). When she starts putting on her make up, after her hair is done, I get in the shower. Somehow, though, this still does not do it. Again, what takes so long?

I should note, by the way, that this has – on occasion – back fired. As hard as it is to imagine, once or twice, she has been ready before me when I take this approach. Perish the thought! Oh, and does she ever relish in this. “I’d just like to point out that I am ready…before you.” Ugh.

She says that it’s part of being a girl. She is right and that’s probably why I do not get it. Any other butches out there tired of waiting for your femmes? Any guys out there tired of waiting for your girls? Is it just our lot in life to wait? Well, so be it.

Be butch.

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