Showdown at the Rio Crockpot

Married for 25 years, my husband and I still experience some "firsts". For instance, we had an argument last night, and for the first time in recorded history, he was right, and I admitted to being wrong.

The confrontation was about my boss's crockpot, which I was cleaning after a chili cook-off. When I tried to wash it, I couldn't get the ceramic pot out of the metal canister, despite pulling really hard and turning it upside down.

Apparently some chili had lodged itself between the pot and the metal, in effect gluing them together. Frustrated, I sought my husband's assistance. In the midst of a computer game, he wasn't eager to help. But he hadn't gotten to the ogre battle yet because if he had, I could've yelled, "The house is burning!" and he'd have responded, "That's nice, Honey."

While I gripped the ceramic handles, he pulled REALLY hard on the metal. We also twisted it, but all to no avail.

He finally announced, "It's not stuck; it just doesn't come apart."

Yes, it did come apart, I explained. Crockpots come in two pieces, which can always be separated. You know the routine: he was convinced he was right, but as an inherently superior female with years of crockpot experience, I knew I was right.

Disgusted, My husband returned to his computer game. I reconnoitered by calling another inherently right female - my boss - to find out what was up with this crockpot.

"Oh, it doesn't come apart," she said. "It's one of the old ones and that's how they were made back then."

Thinking I'd heard her incorrectly, I asked her to repeat it. Which she did, adding, "They're a real pain to clean!"

A pain to clean! That was the least of my worries! I'd rather clean ten messy crockpots than have to tell my husband....well, you know...that he was actually right.

I mulled over some possible scenarios. I could:

a.) not mention it again and hope he'd forgotten about it;

b.) tell him my boss said to return it as is, because it sometimes got stuck like that;

c.) switch hers with ours (somewhat similar in color - sort of a burnt umber); or

d.) go buy a burnt umber crock pot that did come apart and pretend it was hers.

But, in the end, I bit the bullet. I needed to learn to admit I wasn't always right. Besides, he was at the computer, and there was a chance he might not notice.

As I stood behind him, watching the ogre's approach, I said magnanimously, "You were right and I was wrong about the crockpot, Honey." His character leaped out of the way of the lunging ogre, as he hastily replied, "That's nice."

So, I did tell him. It was a learning experience for me and I felt very good about admitting that, though usually right, I had been wrong just this once.