A Man's Man.

So this past week Jill said that she noticed our brakes were grinding just a tad. This was not the greatest of all news. Although I've probably had less than my fair share of car problems (I think Steve somehow got my share) and this didn't seem to be a major malfunction, I still felt a tad miffed about my responsibility of getting this fixed. This might have had something to do with the fact that I feel about as comfortable walking into an autoparts store to pick up some brake pads as I do walking into the grocery store to pick up some maxi pads. I, like many other males whose responsibility it is to maintain the family automobile, am a car-idiot. Like any other car-idiot, I solicited the help of someone less stupid than me.

Upon asking my boss, Chris, if he knew a reliable place in town to get my brake pads fixed, he informed me that it was a simple procedure and that he would take a look at it on Saturday. So I went to Autozone, waited in line next to a 300 pound, goateed feller with a fish hook in his hat (now here's a guy who could buy the super plus tampax and look you straight in the eyes!), got my brake pads, and went to Chris's well-equiped garage. I think that was only time in my life when I actually hoped that there was something wrong with my brake pads. The last thing I wanted was for my boss to inform me that I was a complete idiot and that I should go return my brake pads (I figured if I went back to Autozone my odds of meeting ol' Fish Hook Hat were pretty good). But lucky for me, my brake pads were worn down and needed to be replaced. So after Chris and his 11 year old daughter finished replacing my brake pads I went home and thought of some way that I could repay them. After some thought I decided to continue my day of masculine activities and make Chris some of my famous brownies.

As I looked over the recipe I thought back on an experience I'd had several weeks prior. We were having dinner over at another couple's house and we were in charge of dessert. Naturally I wanted to make my famous brownies, but I didn't have the recipe. I called my parents and my dad (Doug) promptly gave me the recipe. I starting gathering the necessary ingredients for the dough, just as I had done dozens of times before, when I noticed that it called for 2 cups of butter. While cramming 4 cubes of butter into a bowl I vocally expressed some doubt as to whether this was the correct amount of butter. I tried calling my dad again to double check the recipe, but he didn't answer. I then proceeded to call all the females in my family (the only others who rival my brownie prowess) to double check. None of them had the recipe on hand or seemed too sure as to the correct amount of butter, just that every time they make the brownies they always think "man, that's a lot of butter." So after talking it over some more I mustered up enough confidence to proceed. I will now attach the email I sent out the following day.

"Hey, I just thought I warn you that even though the Thayer's famous favorite brownie recipe calls for a lot of butter, the quantity of butter should not make your brownie dough runny. At first the decreased viscosity of the dough will probably be blamed on the low elevation or the different brand of flour, all very interesting arguments. However, in the end, if you don't catch yourself in time and you decide to bake your brownie mix that contains not 1, or 2, or 3, but 4 STICKS of butter and bring those brownies over to your neighbor's house and have their 2 year old eat them, I suggest the following course of action. #1, don't panic, the brownies should come out aesthetically fine. #2, never reveal the true amount of butter, although after the brownie greases its way down your friend's throat the question may arise. And #3, promptly rename your dessert, Baked Chocolate Butter.
Thank you"

I made sure when making the brownies for Chris that I used two cubes and not two cups of butter.