The other day I heard those words dreaded by men of all ages: "Dear, would you like to go shopping with me?"
Who does this? When a guy needs a few more #8 flat head Phillips screws, he doesn't call a close friend to ask if they want to go shopping. First off, guys don't go "shopping;" they go buying. They know the store they need, the area where such parts are and poof poof, the necessary things are bought and promptly brought home.
Women? It is "shopping." It is a social occasion since you're about to wander about a store (virtually any store will do) checking everything out.
This disparity has produced that sad, emasculated class of "men" who sit in malls holding on to their wife's purses while she and her dearest friends "shop."
You will NEVER catch a curmudgeon doing anything of the sort. We prefer turning it all into a useful sport.
As you can see here, I have been obsessing over people who should be able to easily comment on any given post for the past 3 years. Turns out, my late December research paid off as I got more comments on the last week of the Repor than any other issue ever.
And as the New Yorker points out, I'm not alone.
But wait, there's more. The New Yorker illuminates the curmudgeon philosophy quite often. Frankly, as seen here, we think ALL vegetarians are idiots. It takes the New Yorker, however, to perfectly capture the sentiments of idiot vegetarians all around us. People who make ordering lunch a cringeworthy experience.
Finally, not part of the Curmudgeon Societé Generale Handbook, but admirably illustrating our métier:
