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You came in to where I work yesterday with your wife, looking for a certain thing. You babbled on, mansplaining incoherently what *you* wanted for *her* bedroom. Your wife sheepishly whispered that she wanted “something pretty,” to which you exploded — shoving your hand in front of her face to shut her up — “No! She doesn’t know what she wants!” You then lumbered around the store and plunked the dumbest stuff onto the counter, while your wife kept quietly pleading, “But that’s so ugly. I don’t like that.” You (“Greatest Generation, my butt) kept bullying her, then winking to me and commenting on how stupid your wife is. After about half an hour, while you kept wandering around the store, I took your god-awful choices and restocked them. Eventually, you came back and groused, “Where’s the I put on the counter here!?” I said, “Dunno, must’ve been restocked or bought by someone else.” You then shouted to your wife, “C’mon, let’s go!” Your wife then came up to me and whispered,” It’s okay. I’ll come back later, without him, and get what *I* want.” [Impish smiles shared.] “Love it,” sez I, “And I’ll be here to help you.” Grandpa Asshole: You’re mean.

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