The Old Coot is a Gatherer

It’s always dangerous to explore the differences between men and women. Some have tried and met great success, such as the author of, Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus. But, most have met a dire fate – labeled a chauvinist, a bigot, a pig! Yet the differences remain, and comment I must, knowing I’ll fall into the later category of those who dared. I’ve tried before with articles on how men can’t fold, how men don’t listen and the good-bye process, to name a few. And now, I once again walk out on the plank and take another step, hoping I don’t fall into the abyss.

I call this one my, men gather, and women hunt theory. It’s just the opposite of what we’re taught about our ancestors, where it’s claimed that men left the cave to hunt the wooly mammoth, while women stayed home and picked berries and nuts! Bull! It had to have been just the opposite; our inherited genetic pattern proves it. Women hunt! Men gather!

I’ve been exposed to the phenomenon for two weeks on a cruise that stopped at eight different Caribbean islands. I watched the men; they gather. They walk up to a souvenir booth, scan the goods, buy something (a T-shirt, most often) and are ready to go back to the ship. The wives (who are women, might I point out) go to the same booth and start a "hunting" process. Each item is examined in detail - picked up, turned over, studied front to back, top to bottom. They never buy on this first pass; they simply move to the next booth and repeat the process: hunting, hunting, hunting! It doesn’t matter that each booth is exactly the same; the process goes on until the hunt has been completed. No purchase (gathering) is made at this stage. The decision to purchase something requires a second pass, where finalists are determined. Then, and only then, is "gathering" undertaken.

While the hunting process is taking place, the men tail along in a stupor, wondering how a human being can expend such an effort shopping (hunting). They follow the hunter, acting exactly like a five-year-old, holding on to his mother’s skirt and constantly whining, "Can we go home now?" After 15 minutes or so, they announce they are leaving the hunt with a statement like, "I’ll be outside on the bench," or "I’ll be over in the coffee shop." That gets us another fifteen minutes. Then we come back to inquire, "How much longer do you think you’ll be?" We always get the same answer, "Just a minute." We slunk away, back to the husband waiting area and grouse among our fellow gatherers, complaining how bad we have it- "She takes forever! She looks at every single item," etc. etc. etc. We go back for an update every half hour or so, to get a progress report on the hunt. The conversation gets a little testier with each successive visit. Words are not exactly spoken at this stage; they are spat back and forth.

Finally, the hut is over; the "game" is bagged, literally. We sneak a peek at her purchase when she isn’t looking. Her T-shirt cost $3.29; ours was $10.00. Hers is perfect. Ours is missing a sleeve. Yet, we have the nerve to call ourselves the hunters. It just ain’t so!

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