For decades sociologists, psychologists, and regular folks like me have been trying to discern the differences between men and women: why do we have different interests, what is up with these archaic stereotypes, basically, what makes us tick in opposition to one another? American comedian Rob Becker may have explained it best in his one-man act “Defending the Caveman” which premiered in June 1991. As newlyweds, we attended his show and have ever since referenced women as the gatherers and men as the hunters, and although it may be another stereotype, it came in to play once again on a night out for dinner with friends. Follow along…

A few months back, my friend Sophia* and I went out to dinner with our husbands on a Friday night. They are our ‘go to’ couple because we plan best when we plan spontaneously, and spontaneity defines our friendship. The plan is typically formed mid-Thursday afternoon, Friday morning at the latest. A simple query: Are you around this weekend? Do you want to have dinner? A quick response: Absolutely! We love being spontaneous!

So, the game begins. Where to go?

We have simple criteria for making this last-minute plan to have a night out: the restaurant needs a good vibe, perfectly shaken specialty cocktails, a hardy menu to please the men, a buzzing crowd, and…they must be able to take a reservation last minute on a Friday night. Not too early, not too late. Preferably just right, like Goldilocks, which would be around 8 pm according to Sophia and me.

On this particular Friday night, we have success. Cool restaurant – check. Fancy drinks – check. Decent menu, decent crowd – check, check, and check, right down to the reservation time, although there was some confusion from the restaurant when Sophia called to make the reservation. Still, we are IN and we forge ahead with our plan.

Even though the restaurant isn’t new, the experience is new to me because I haven’t been to this establishment since it’s latest incarnation. Plus, the location is a bit beyond “the boundaries of my pride land” making it not the first place I consider when dining out. But, I’m excited to be there amid the buzz, the décor, and the light pink cocktail I am about to sip. I immediately gravitate toward Sophia at the bar, and the menfolk get locked into a manly conversation of their own. We have checked in with the hostess, she is aware of our presence, and she will come find us at the designated time. Cheers!

Sophia and I spy an old friend we know, so we dart around the bar to accost him from behind, meet his wife, chat about what’s new in his world, and eventually move back to our side of the bar. When we return, the men think it is time we check on our table; she and I have lost track of time catching up on the week, sipping our drinks, talking to anyone who will indulge us. We seem to have forgotten we came for dinner as we gathered tons of information. Meanwhile the men are on the hunt for the meal.

Some more confusion ensues with the people who work there; we get different answers from various staff members on which table is ours, the location of our table, and the exact time they will be able to seat us. I am not phased. We are out, we are happy, we are wearing cute outfits (fingers crossed!), and we are together. I have moved on from people-watching and am now engrossed in the memorabilia that lines the walls of the restaurant. All my favorite recording artists are immortalized here. Cool! (Note: I am still gathering information.)

The men don’t share our enthusiasm. To them, TGIF has a whole different meaning. It’s the end of the week, not the start of something spontaneous. It is now well past 8 pm and they are hungry, or HANGRY, as we like to say in our house. Some pacing begins, and watches are glanced at more than once in a five-minute time span. Finally, we are given the go ahead that the table is ready.

More confusion as three of us end up at a table in one area of the restaurant while Sophia’s husband Stephen* is at another table entirely, contentedly reading the menu. He is ready to order, to eat his shoe, to quiet the rumbling in his belly. (Another note: the men are still hunting.)

We regroup, altogether now, but our seating arrangement allows for more girl talk while the men peruse their menus. We still are not thinking about food, but we are in the minority and give in to their desire to order.

The food is fine, the conversation superb, and the laughter, well, spontaneous. Perfect night.

As we are leaving, I drag Sophia to the ladies’ room because I want to show her one last album cover on the wall of a female singer/songwriter we both admire. When we step outside, the husbands are waiting and bark, “Let’s go.”

We both stop in our tracks, I turn to her point blank, rather shocked, and say, “Was it all about the food?”

For us, it was so much more: a night out to celebrate the end of the week, to enjoy our friendship, to converse for hours on end, and to gather insightful information without even being aware of our gathering nature. For the guys, yes, truthfully, it was…all about the food. Hunters versus Gatherers. Sigh.

*The names have been changed to protect the innocent, but the story is true and often replays itself, even when we tried to make Thursday the new Friday! 😊