Men don't follow recipes...Idiot!

 

Why don't blokes follow instructions, or recipes for that matter?

There are plenty of recipe books on the shelf in the kitchen but I suspect I'm not alone in the male camp for not following the detail in any great detail too often.  My last scribble was indeed a recipe for smoked salmon tartlets.  I listed ingredients and procedures and then had to spoil it all by suggesting I'd probably tweak the mayo and chilli sauce.  There was an audible 'Tsk!' from some of the girls reading this thinking to themselves ' you just can't do as you're told, can you?'.

There are many examples of this well-documented male trait.  Our house is a shrine to the mighty Ikea.  Blood drains from my grown up sons faces if, should they be with us on a journey hear the words from their mother, 'Let's just pop in to Ikea while were there.'  Firstly, no one pops into Ikea. It's an expedition.  And the only way to get sons into the place is to calm them with plates of meat balls and the bizarre fruit sauce that seems to be the required companion.  Second; we only go to look at light fittings and end up spending close to the Greek national bailout fund on a selection of flat pack boxes all now deemed essential.

You can see where this is going.

Boxes now home are unopened I have set about the task of building 'Zaaaghul', or whatever it's called to personalise the handy storage facility that I have in front of me in pieces. There are copious instructions and lots of little plastic bags with exclusively designed brackets and bolts.  I undo everything and, ignoring the A4 instruction manual, pick up the big bits and find something to bolt them together with.

Two hours, and lots of appalling language in, and we have something more closely resembling a nest of tables than 'Zaaaghul' the handy storage facility.  Wife picks up A4 instruction manual while I look for a six inch long double-headed flange gusset. (parts :1).

"Typical." I moan. "There's always a bloody bit missing.  Sodding Ikea."

Wife eyes nest of tables for a nano-second.

"Look!...you've already used it!  You used it at  2b (ii) when you should have used it at
7g (iiiii).  No wonder it's wrong. Idiot! How can you mistake a six inch long double-headed flange gusset. (parts :1) for anything else!"

I won't continue, we all know the moral in the story.  Zaaaghul is now leading a happy life next to the washing machine happily storing shoe polish and light bulbs that may or may not work, no-one can remember.

But I still just can't help tweaking the chilli sauce while no-ones looking.  I'm a bloke.