I'll be waiting for you in the car

By Ann Ipock                                                      March 17, 2010

I wonder how many men have said grudgingly through clenched teeth, “I’ll be waiting for you in the car,” to their wife/significant other, while growing impatient and weary.

I hadn’t given it much thought until a friend from church recently mentioned this.

Sam—an E.R. doctor who’s quick at decision-making, I’m sure—said he knows it’s a woman thing that we gals have trouble ending a conversation and saying goodbye.

His wife, Jane, just rolled her eyes at him. I told Sam this is the reason that many stores—the smart ones—have chairs lined up by the Exit sign.

One store that comes to mind is Hamrick’s. These folks have it all figured out! Why do you think entire busloads of folks get dropped off at the door for the super-special sales?

It’s because the women can shop ’til they drop and the men can simply—well, ur, drop—drop into a chair at the door, when they walk in.

With a book in hand, or simply a lightweight jacket to fold up into a pillow, they’re good to go (or wait, as it were).

I’ve seen it so many times I’ve come to expect it.

You can ride by there and tell if they’re busy—not so much by the cars in the parking lot but by the chairs lined up at the window.

Are they empty or full?

Let’s face it: Men are not good waiters.

They don’t understand the thrill of the hunt (shopping) or the buzz of chit-chat (women talking).

Not “out of the ‘mouths of babes’” but rather, ’mouths of the South,’ some folks call us.

Not only that, men simply cannot, will not, and do not get “family reunions.”

Why? Because the ‘goodbyes’ are killer!

About the time someone mentions “This sure has been fun,” the women begin their litany: “Call me when y’all get home.”

Another says, “Wait! You didn’t give me that recipe for the blueberry cobbler?” and still another says, “I still can’t get over how tall Junior is!”

By now, the man is sulking: He’s dropped his head and shoulders, jammed his hands in his pockets, and he’s fiddling around for the keys.

Then he searches for relief: his set of wheels. But not before saying, “I’ll be waiting for you in the car.” I know our Morris’ (my maiden name) goodbyes can take hours, literally!

Plus, we Southerners love a good, long story.

Whether it’s dinner club or a football game, when it’s over, we women just don’t want the fun to end.

I’ve been known to follow a car parked three spaces ahead of mine, waving and jumping around, saying, “Wait up! I didn’t get to say goodbye!”

I know Russell doesn’t get this.

Let’s admit it: they’re programmed differently.

Instead, what do they do? Their goodbye is simply a nod, a wave or at the most, a quick handshake. Boring!

Not too long ago Russell dropped me off to get a prescription and said, you guessed it, “I’ll be waiting for you in the car.”

He mumbled something else, but I didn’t listen. I figured he’d said, “Hurry!” (the usual) but I hoped for his sake he was reading or sleeping.

It was late at night and it took me a little longer than usual.

Okay, you got me there: I ran into an old friend who told me about the most amazing movie.

Then we discussed the chances of an Oscar win. And the next thing you knew, the manager was announcing the store closing.

Walking towards the door, I noticed it started to drizzle, so I ran out, flung open the car door and jumped in, throwing my heavy bag to the floor, with a loud “thump!”

Russell gasped, bolted upright and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands.

“What?” I said. I’m not sure who got scared the worst!

He said I scared him half-to-death; then he reminded me that he asked me to just tap on the car window before I jumped in.

I didn’t hear that part. And he knows how heavy-handed and klutzy I can be.

I guess talkers attract talkers too, but nine times out of ten it’s my women friends.

We talk about important things that men couldn’t care less about, with: Who fixes your hair? Where did you find fresh cherries this time of year? When’s the best time of day to walk on the beach (less crowds)?

We are by our very essence, gatherers and processors of information; and since we tend to make our short stories long, it can take a while to get to the point.

It is what it is.

Which leads me to this: I think that’s why God made cars.

Sure they get us from point A to point B, they haul around our stuff, they even become hobbies for car collectors, but maybe their most important role is to simply be there for men who say, “I’ll be waiting for you in the car.”

Couponing isn't as easy as it seems

By Ann Ipock                                                     March 5, 2010

I’m back into couponing, or at least I’m trying to be. Everyone seems to be saving unheard amounts of money lately, so why not join in? Our local newspaper has even begun a syndicated column of weekly “how to’s.” Back in the 80’s I was a super-serious couponer. I kept a filled envelope when shopping and often turned in three or four at a time. I’d also fill out the printed forms and send off the required UPC codes, box tops or proofs of purchase, from selected products of one manufacturer. Then in about six to eight weeks, I’d get my little check for say, $15.00. Not enough to buy another week’s worth of groceries, but enough for a gas fill-up. For some reason, I stopped. Maybe I got lazy, apathetic or just plain busy. Plus, it was sheer drudgery, to be honest, all that searching, sorting, cutting out and checking for expiration dates—then remembering what choices I had.

But a friend has seriously encouraged me to start again. “It’s well worth the time,” she promised me recently, after saving $5 on her nail fill-ins, and offering a 2-for-1 lunch deal with me. Although I say “cu-pon” and she says “coo-pawn” (tomato, tomatah), she does have a point. She mentioned her own coupon mentor friend who keeps a heavy three ring binder BY HER SIDE AT ALL TIMES. It’s sectioned off into every category imaginable: food, beverage, beauty, clothing, footwear, hair cuts, retail and even doggie deals. She said these system organizers can run anywhere from $5 to $40 and up! Well, y’all, I don’t mean to be a coupon snob, but isn’t that just carrying things a little too far? It would take me an entire lifetime to save $40, using coupons and therefore breaking even on the binder purchase.

This mentor treats herself to lunch out every week—of course, cashing in on that particular fast food’s coupon from the Sunday newspaper—and goes through the entire binder, updating and organizing: If something has expired, she tosses it out. The new ones, she places inside. And the ones she hasn’t used in some arbitrary amount of time, she places in the pile “to trade.” Yep, that’s right. Folks even trade ’em, like baseball cards, but without the baseball player’s pictures, statistics, or value, for that matter. Then she closes up her 10 lb. Vera-Bradley-look-alike Coupon Boulder, I mean, Binder. But like cell phone chargers and potato salad recipes, no two are alike, so there you go: Another million dollar business built on suckers born every day.

However, none of this is working for me. Even though couponing was one of my New Year’s resolutions, I can’t seem to get the knack of it. In the nine weeks since I made this promise to myself, I’ve clipped quite a few but haven’t used a single one. Though I don’t have a three ring binder, I do have a sandwich baggie (my daughter, Kelly’s idea), where I stash them, then throw them into the deep abyss of what I call a pocketbook. From there, things just go way wrong: either I change pocketbooks and can’t find the baggie; or I have the right pocketbook, but the baggie burst, mixing the coupons in with dirty Kleenexes and ABC-gum sticky wrappers. And often as not, I pull out the wrong name brand coupon—like, Breakstone sour cream when I’m holding a carton of Daisy. One hopeless coupon experience involved $2.00 off Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. I guarded this one carefully, but must have removed it and replaced it four times. Come to find out, the clincher was that you had to buy an extra large bag, and I kept picking up smaller ones. When I finally located the right size, I let out a “Yee-haa!” and the poor old man with a hearing aid beside me jumped a mile. But no, I couldn’t use it either; another “rule” prohibited this since Costco only allows their own coupons. The final straw was my hair coupon experience. I recently had my bangs trimmed at Hair Clips and knew this time, once and for all, the coupon was going to work, yesiree! Katie, my daughter, even plucked it off my refrigerator, and drove it to me, since I’d accidentally left it at home. After a nice trim, I pulled out the bright colored postcard that read $6.99 for a haircut. But guess what? The lady handed it back to me, saying, “Honey, save that for another day, because a bangs trim is only $5.00.” “No, please,” I begged. “You don’t understand. I NEED to use this coupon.” She raised her eyebrows, observing the shocked customers lined up by the window. Y’all, it would’ve been my first official coupon redemption this year. “But, ma’am,” she continued, “this coupon charges more than the usual trim.” “I don’t care,” I muttered, “it’s the principal of the thing.” Still, she simply could not break her policy. See? I just can’t get coupons to work for me! Well, I may not be saving money with coupons, but I’m saving $40 on a binder. If the baggie thing doesn’t work, heaven knows the binder thing won’t.