Very true, even of men who are normally good cooks.

There's something about the barbie that brings out the Australian/caveman in them.

I can't speak for men everywhere, but this is what happens at Chez Artemis:

- The man makes bread dough from scratch, and sets it to rise.
- The man takes the children to the grocery store and buys the meat etc.
- The man makes the dessert (with lemons from the tree that he planted in the backyard) and the salad (with lettuce from the garden that he planted and maintains)
- The man bakes the bread
- The man cooks the meat on the grill
- The man brings in the prepared meat, sets the table, dishes up the food on the plates, places the plates on the table, warms cups of milk for the children, tries to round every one up and get them to please, please sit down at the table to eat
- After the meal, the man places whatever dishes are possible in the dishwasher after rinsing, and hand-washes the rest
- The woman notices that the man left drips of water on the lip of the sink while washing dishes, and makes that the one comment on the evening

Well, anyways, that is our routine.  Everyone is different, I guess.

Right, that clinches it - party time at your place.

Here come the girls.

The man is no longer, to the extent that he ever was, affected by little black dresses, 5 inch heels, and whatever else those lyrics mentioned.

You and yours, of course, are welcome if you ever find yourself in sunny California.