ONE OF “THOSE LOOKS”

February 18, 2026

by Rusty W. Mitchum

The other day I ran into a young man at the grocery store.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you Rusty Mitchum?”

“Depends,” I said. “Do he owe you money?”

“No,” he replied.

“Well then, that’s me.”

“Cool,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

“You have? Why?”

“Well, I read your columns and you’re always saying that your wife gives you one of ‘those looks’. What is one of ‘those looks’?”

“Ha,” I laughed. “You aren’t married, are you?”

“Uh, no. What does that have to do with it?”

“Everything, son, everything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “One of these days, you’ll get married, and for a while everything will be goin’ just fine, and then you’ll do somethin’; nothin’ big, just somethin’, and your sweet little wife will hit you with one of ‘those looks’, and you’ll be scarred from then on.”

“What do they look like?”

“Picture evil in its purest form.”

“Sounds scary.”

“Buddy, you ain’t never seen scary.”

“What do you do when they use it on you?”

“Well, when it first happens, you babble and then start apologizin’, which doesn’t do any good. Later, when you’ve been married as long as I have, you become immune to them. You just look at them and say, ‘What?’”

“Does that work?” he asked.

“Heck no, nothin’ works. It don’t matter what you do, you’re still in trouble. But innocently sayin’ ‘What?’ really perturbs them.”

“Why would you want to perturb them?”

“Why not? You don’t get many pleasures in life you know.”

“It’s all too confusing,” he said.

“You know,” I said. “I’m surprised your mother hasn’t ever given you one of ‘those looks’. Heck, I don’t think a day went by that my mom didn’t shoot one of them at me.”

“You mean moms give them, too?”

“Man, where have you been livin’, in a monastery? Every woman I’ve ever known for any period of time has given me one of ‘those looks’. Heck, even my daughter gives me one every once in a while. Usually it’s after I’ve said something politically incorrect to one of her kids. Of course, she’s still perfectin’ ‘the look’, so she’ll follow ‘the look’, with the word ‘Daddy’, and draw it out in a warnin’ voice. You see, women aren’t like men.”

“Well, I know that,” he said.

“No, I mean they are different inside. You know, they don’t think like us. What we think is funny; they think is either stupid, or gross. They just don’t get us, which is fine, ‘cause we don’t get them either.”

“I get my girlfriend,” he said. “And she gets me.”

“Yeah right. Dream on, partner.”

“I’m serious. We get along great.”

“Hey, my wife and I get along great. I couldn’t do without her, but that don’t mean we see eye to eye.”

“Well, I don’t think I could say anything that would make my girlfriend give me one of ‘those looks’.

“Wanna bet?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is your girlfriend in the store here?”

“Well, yeah. Why?”

“Tell you what. Let’s go see her, and you introduce me to her. Then, you tell her we were discussin’ how hot Shania Twain is. I’ll bet you a peck of peach seeds, you’ll get one of 'those looks’.”

“No way, man.”

“Let’s try it,” I said confidently.

“Okay,” he said defiantly. “Let’s go.”

I followed him as he looked down the rows until he spotted her. “There she is,” he said.

“Hi, honey,” he said. “There’s someone here I would like you to meet. This is Rusty Mitchum. He writes for the paper.”

“Hello,” I said, and shook her hand. “Boy howdy, your boyfriend told me you were pretty, and he wasn’t lyin’.” She blushed.

Then I looked at him. I could tell he was havin’ second thoughts.

“Uh,” he uhhed. “We were, uh, discussing how hot Shania Twain was.”

She was smilin’ at me as he said this, and then her head jerked toward him. Her face screwed into somethin’ unspeakable, as she looked at him.

You know, I’ve never seen anybody hit with one of those 50,000-volt stun guns before, but I’d be willin’ to bet that it wouldn’t have knocked him back as far as that look did. All of a sudden, he started babblin’, and then apologizin’. She just turned and walked away. He stood there with the most pitiful look on his face.

About that time my wife Janet walked up.

“Hey, Sugar Booger, this is….Hey, what is your name?” I asked, but he didn’t say anything. He was still in shock. I just laughed and looked at Janet.

“We were just discussin’ how hot Shania Twain is,” I said, and the young man turned his head to look at Janet. She gave me one of “those looks”, but it was a subdued one. After all, she’s been puttin’ up with me for years.

“What?” I said innocently.

“You’re an idiot,” she said to me. “Nice to me you though,” she said as she smiled at the young man. “Come on Rusty. I’m through. Let’s go.”

I turned and smiled at the young man. “You owe me a peck of peach seeds.”