noun
a fixed or conventional notion or conception, as of a person, group, idea, etc., held by a number of people, and allowing for no individuality, critical judgment, etc.
My son broke his toe. Doesn’t sound too bad? Imagine these five lines represent the toes of a foot:
I I I I __
On a human foot when one of the toes is perpendicular to the other four, there is a problem. My wife and I each took a look at the foot; as we were unable to decide who would vomit first, we jumped into the car and went to the ER.
A woman from registration came into the waiting room and asked, “Can I have the mommy, please?” My wife, who was in comfort mode, handed me the insurance card and asked, “Will you go?”
I followed the nurse out; she glanced over her shoulder and stopped short. “I’d prefer the mommy.”
“Well I’m the daddy.”
“Yeah, well, I prefer the mommy; they know all the information.”
The rush of adrenaline I had been feeling since the toe started pointing east was rapidly being replaced with anger.
“Look, I know everything you will need.”
She was not convinced, but seeing as I was about to explode, we continued into her office. She logged onto the computer.
“Has he been here before?”
"Yes."
“Is Mitchell his name?”
“Mitchell?! No, I just gave you his insurance card.”
"Well who is Mitchell?"
“Dear, I have no idea who Mitchell is…Have you found my son in the system?”
“Yes, birthdate?”
“September 7, 1993.”
"Nope! Should I ask the mommy?"
I now exploded.
“What do you mean 'nope,' This is my son! He was born on September 7, 1993. I was there!”
"The computer says January 7th, let me check with the mommy. This is why I prefer the mommies. They know these things. Daddies just don’t know. "
I then proceeded to list the following dates:
My birthday
My wife’s birthday
The day we met
The day we got engaged
The day we got married
Our oldest's birthday
Our middle’s birthday
My parents' birthdays and anniversary
“Maybe because the last time the person who registered my son made a mistake. By the way, it was a woman who checked us in!”
Now it was her turn to be mad. “We have men who do this job, too!”
“Well of all the times I have been here, a man has never registered us. So I guess a mommy made the mistake.”
It was over.
She asked a series of questions I answered them all.
Then just when I thought we were done. She asked “Your mother-in-law’s birthday?”
“Is that really on the form?”
“No, I've just got to know.”
“April 11, 1935.”
(Shaking her head) “I'm sorry, men don’t normally know these things.”
Everyone with whom I've shared this story to has had the same reaction. “She was rude, but she was right. Men don’t normally know.”
I'm not sure how this started. Was it women thinking men don't care? Was it men believing women handle “these things?" I don’t know, but it’s wrong.
Is it possible that I am not a normal man? I hope not.
One thing is for certain: my mother-in-law is very happy with me.
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