One Cup or Two? (standard:humor, 770 words)
Author: Jim Spence	Added: Oct 05 2005	Views/Reads: 3521/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Men can't cook - and why is that?

One Cup or Two? 

Why is it that so many women know how to cook, and so few men do?  What
is it about cooking that makes a man run screaming from a kitchen? 

When I was in high school I took a home economics class.  At that time,
it was rare for men to take home economics; instead men took auto shop 
or woodworking – you know, man stuff. 

But I took home economics. 

There were four of us guys that took the class, the first time that men
had ever taken home economics in my high school.  Because of this, we 
did a few experiments that ordinarily couldn't have been done in the 
class.  One such experiment was to see who had a better measurement 
sense – women or men. 

We were all instructed to pour one cup of powered detergent onto a
table, using no measuring devices other than sight.  All four of us 
guys were fairly close to a cup; a few of the women poured out close to 
a half a gallon of detergent – none of the women were as close as any 
of the men when it came to sight measurements.  Even though our class 
was relatively small (four men and close to two dozen women), it was 
still scientific enough to prove – to us at least – that men had a 
better grasp of measurements. 

And when I think about measurements, I think about cooking.  Cooking is
one skill at which most women are more than competent, while most men 
would burn Kool Aid (me being one of them).  No other endeavor calls 
for more different types of measurement than cooking. 

Men have better measurement skills, yet women are better cooks. 

Why do you suppose that is?  Well, let's look at all of the stuff men
deal with growing up. 

Men are raised more mechanically inclined.  We don't want to be, it's
just sort of forced upon us.  Boys are brought up with toy cars and 
erector sets and such, and are taught to think along mechanical lines.  
When we're old enough to understand why, our fathers took us out in the 
garage and showed us how to check the oil in the Pontiac, how to fill 
the radiator with antifreeze, how to check the brake fluid, even how to 
top off the windshield washer reservoir. 

Do women check these things?  Rarely. 

Go ahead, call me a male chauvinist, but it's true – and you know it. 

So guys grew up constantly checking fluid levels; therefore we have a
better grasp on quarts and gallons and such. 

Women, on the other hand, grew up in a more abstract world.  A cup isn't
really a cup; it's whatever looks like a cup to a woman. 

Men are raised to think in terms of specific quantities; a cup, a pint,
a quart, a gallon, a bucket – definite amounts, with little room for 
error. 

Women are raised to think in terms of “whatever suits your taste”
quantities; a dash, a sprinkle, a smidgeon, a pinch, a handful, a dab 
or any of a hundred other measurements that mean zilch to a man. A 
sprinkle?  Just exactly how much is a sprinkle? 

So it's no wonder that most men can't cook.  If a recipe called for one
cup of flour, one gallon of milk and a quart of raisins, we'd be set.  
But, oh no, that'd be too easy. 

Instead a typical recipe calls for “a dash of cinnamon, a pinch of salt,
two dabs of vanilla and a smidgeon of brown sugar.” 

A smidgeon?  What in the hell is a smidgeon? 

Webster's Dictionary defines a “smidgeon” as “a small amount.” 

Webster's Dictionary defines a “dab” as “a bit of something”; oddly
enough, Webster's also defines a “dash” as “a bit of something.” 

Webster's Dictionary defines a “pinch” as “an amount grasped between
finger and thumb.” 

I don't know about you, but the amount of anything I could grasp between
my finger and thumb is only about – oh, a smidgeon. 

It's no wonder the majority of men are such busts in the kitchen; we
just can't understand any of the measurements. 

So just what did I get out of home economics, you ask?  Well, to be
perfectly honest, home economics only took up nine weeks; the other 
nine weeks I spent in typing class instead of auto shop.  And that's 
where I learned all of the really important stuff. 

Because now, when my car breaks down, I can sit here and write stories
like this, typing 140 words per minute in the process. 

Oh – and order in a pizza by telephone. 


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