WHO IS RIGHT WHEN GENDERS DISAGREE? When a male’s instinct is counter to a woman’s expectations, or the other way around, and it’s a logical draw, who wins the battle of the sexes? Is it the woman because we’re gentlemen, or because they’re always right in a draw, like a blackjack dealer?

Susan and I were reminiscing and debating this concept clarification Sunday morning. Sometimes I act as Steve, other times I act like a typical male. Her, too. Sometimes we must accept our differences, other times one of us needs to wise up. Which is which?

Then the doorbell rang. It was our friend Bud Donaldson, a retired Benicia teacher, just stopping by for no reason. We invited him to the patio for the debate.

For a concrete example we turned to a familiar story from 2001 that Bud was involved in. It was the Gino Wars. They sprang from a wild adventure we initiated. We invited Gino to gather together a dozen friends and family and we’d fly them all to California if they would in turn help us put new cedar siding on our little Tahoe house.

We bought 11 round-trip tickets for Gino, his sister, mother, brother-in-law, nieces, nephews and friends. Bud had a people-mover van, so he picked everyone up at the airport and brought them to Tahoe and helped out. We all, about a baker’s dozen of us, lived in Sue’s dad’s cabin down the street while we ripped down the old exterior walls and nailed cedar on our place up the street.

OK, ladies, gentlemen, here was the situation. Who is right?

We had a big construction day planned. A half-dozen men strapped on tool belts, work boots and gloves and left for the job site 100 feet away. A half-dozen women stayed at the cabin to prepare a huge banquet dinner for that evening.

Before we left, the women asked, “When do the men want to eat?”

We agreed on 6 o’clock. It was a gentleman’s agreement, no written contracts.

The men worked their fool heads off all day. We hammered, nailed, sawed, sweated, suffered, got splinters all day long. The women brought us a light lunch — much appreciated — and we confirmed dinner at 6. Back at the house they were working just as hard as the men making lasagna, roasting chickens, steaming vegetables, building a few pies.

Around 4:45 p.m. the guys were getting pretty tired and thirsty. At one point Jay, our master craftsman homebuilder who was pretty much our foreman, said, “I’m done. Where is the closest place to buy a cold beer?”

I said, “We can just walk up the street. There are a long string of bars along Highway 89 between us and the Y.” With that, Jay dropped his tool belt on the back porch and walked off up the street. We all followed suit. In minutes, there was a pile of abandoned tools and a cluster of dusty, dirty men walking toward the Rockwater. We could surely have a few beers and make dinner on time.

However, we all started having a really great time at the pub. Once we relaxed with a few beers, we got to talking and joking. Then we met Chuck and Betty.

Chuck and Betty climbed out of a Tahoe shuttle bus and stopped in for a meal. They were in their 60s from Nebraska and both wore “Popcorn Capital of the World” T-shirts. They were talkative and animated and we all came together.

That’s when Chuck, a normal looking guy, told us he had a space ship stored in his barn at home. He could fly it by simply moving his head up, down, left, right. It ran on magnetism and was left behind by a space alien. A fixed satellite has been hovering over his farm for years. Betty concurred with every part of Chuck’s story. “It’s all true,” she said.

Fascinated and laughing hysterically, we kept probing for more details and holes in the logic. At one point we noticed that it was 6:30 p.m. Oops. We needed to get home. Chuck and Betty said they had to wait for the shuttle. We enjoyed their story so much, we invited them to the cabin to continue it, and that we’d give them a ride to their hotel later. We wanted the nieces and nephews to hear this flying saucer story.

We all walked back in a cluster, laughing and joking. It was hilarious stuff. Chuck was completely serious but tolerated our teasing. Betty remained loyal throughout.

When we stumbled in, giddy, grinning, eager to share our sci-fi adventure, we were met with six stone-cold, angry, glaring faces, and 12 fists on hips.

“Where the hell have you guys been? Dinner is cold. We had everything ready at six. We worked hours preparing this meal. It was special to us, and you guys have ruined it. And who are these new people?”

Gino’s sister and Jay’s wife were furious. We tried to laugh it off and get past it so we could continue our fun times, but the women were permanently pissed. They scolded us so sternly and loudly that Gino lost his cool and snapped back something just as scolding.

Oh, boy. Things unraveled quickly after that. Within an hour, Gino was sleeping in the woods and wouldn’t come in. His sister was crying behind a slammed bedroom door. Jay’s wife wanted to fly back to PA in the morning. Everyone went to bed miserable.

What’s the verdict? Bud’s response: “I’m Geneva.”

Steve Gibbs teaches at Benicia High School and has written a column for The Herald since 1985.