We have all heard of the bizarre mating rituals that other members of the animal Kingdom go through in the spring. Who hasn’t seen graphic footage of male elk locking horns until one becomes the dominate male, just in time for wooing that special mate? Even our cat, who hasn’t seemed to figure out that he’s an “”it”, turns into Psycho Kitty this time of year and I have had to resort to sticks and stones to break up impending battles with the neighbourhood Toms.

But there can be nothing as brutal, primal or certainly stimulating as seeing men in the spring on another well-recognized ego-testing ground, Home Depot!

Our quest was a new BBQ, and after several reconnoitres on his own, to pick up minor symbols of manhood such as garden tools, paint, and finally, the power washer, Jordan was ready to bring me along to watch the coup de grace that would make me his (for one more season, at least!)

He must have been feeling pretty frisky, because he first took me to a high-end BBQ store. It was immediately obvious that he was way out of his league. What we really needed was “JUST a BBQ” that would last us a few years until we move permanently to the coast from Calgary. We had made this decision before we left the house, bu as soon as we walked into this temple of excess, all sanity left us, and we started looking and appropriately oohing and aahing over the three and four thousand dollar models that come in gorgeous designer colours with a bazillion BTUs and would replace almost every appliance in our home, including the washer and dryer. We had to make a retreat, and keep our dignity. The problem with being in catering, is that Jordan is often recognized and of course he was that day, everyone expects us to have this top-of-the-line kitchen, with every cooking invention ever created. In a very loud voice, I explained to Jordan and to anyone eaves-dropping that we did not need to buy the ultimate BBQ yet, because we would be buying one at a later time for summer home on the coast, where we do most of our entertaining, and we just needed a throw-away one for here. Run!

Next stop, Home Depot, where we were sure to find the bargain we were looking for, and not run into any BBQ snobs. We were wrong! It should have been a simple feat. Jordan was treading on familiar ground now. We immediately found the display, proceeded to look down the line and zeroed in on our goal, a mere 50,000 BTU, no side-burner, no cast-iron cooking grids, no rotisserie unit. But suddenly, a voice, a deep and formidable voice, broke through our resolve. “If you want a really good BBQ, you should buy a Weber.” We turned around looked up and found ourselves facing the worst possible obstacle, the self-proclaimed BBQ expert.

There was going to be no quick retreat. We were trapped, and spent the next hour discussing the pros and cons of gas vs briquettes, BTU’s and roasting by indirect heat. Jordan made attempts to display his own great knowledge of the art, but he was always one-upped. When I ventured to say that I had successfully cooked our Christmas Ham on an inexpensive BBQ, he was quick to point out that you don’t really need to “cook” a ham. He was out to replace his charcoal BBQ, Weber of course, because he said that he just couldn’t  manage without both gas and charcoal.

When he started to brag about the expensive kitchen range that he had managed to “steal” for a price greater than what we had paid for all of our kitchen appliances combined, I knew that it was time to make a last attempt to retreat with our selection and our pride, before Jordan was chagrined into making a decision that he would regret later. I told the gentleman that we wouldn’t be needing the perfect BBQ here in Calgary, because we spend most of our time entertaining on the coast in our summer home on Gabriola Island.

He shut up, we said our good-byes, and wheeted off into the check-out line.

As we left, I took a quick glance over my shoulder, and saw him approaching another unsuspecting couple. I wanted to yell, RUN!

The next day, Easter Sunday, Jordan was out early again, returning to the scene, only to fifteen or more hapless men, circling the parking lot in miser. Home Depot was closed!

O’ My Man, I love him so!