Do you remember the article I wrote about "Why men wear pants?" You don't? That's really too bad because it was so existentially true. It was a deeply philosophical review of the fundamerntal differences that exist between men and women, Ladies and gentlemen, females and males, girls and boys, aunts and uncles, gran'pas and gran'mas, nieces and nephews and whatever other differences that you can think of in English or in any other language that might come to mind. You can read about this scientific study if you click here.
Now, tonight I had a great experience that I have to expose to you because it is sooo, grrreat! It is the story of an answer that came to me at a time when I really though I had found the answer. Read on...
It happened in one of America's five ***** eateries. You guessed it, Mc'D's place. I'm standing there waiting for my number to be called. Four females walk in. Two of them are very evidently sisters. Adults. I mean, VERY evidently. One of them has a female child of about 12 or 13 years of age while the other has a child in the 2 to 3 year range. Since the temperature in our ovenly Southern California city is just above freezing, [Honest, it's only 65F for crying out loud], they are all wearing protective clothing. The three larger ones are sporting flannel, floppy hoodies of the navy blue persuasion and the "baby" is in her puffy, kapok filled jacket that bulges all over the place.
So, the three socially mature individuals go to the counter in front of the cashier's station while the "baby" explores the terrain. She finds the ice cubes by the drinks station and starts to pick them and pitch them. Mother darts away from her position in front of the cashier and captures baby and a couple of ice cubes and saves the day by pointing "baby" in another less precarious direction. Now, you have to listen carefully to what comes. As the mother [I presume it is the mother since she saved the day with great aplomb and authority] is on the way to reclaiming her position at the counter, she passes behind the 12 to 13 year old whose flannel hoody is hanging loosely to below her buttocks. On the way by, supposed mama reaches out and dries her right hand on the tail of the hoody. I am now beside myself. I can't believe what I just saw. My scientific study has been blown to smithereens before my very eyes.
Oops, I quickly regain my composure. I go from monumental disappointment to profound humor. My theory is still intact. She didn't wipe her hands on her pants [she was wearing pants]; she didn't wipe them on the front of her shirt; she wiped them on someone else's clothes! Yahoooo! So that's why we wear clothes...so that everyone has a place to wipe their hands. Why did I never think of that? Why did it have to be a fastidious [no doubt] woman to show it to me? That's why I had to run to my work station as fast as I could to enlighten the world about the truth. We all wear clothes so that everyone, at all times, will have a place to wipe their hands. I, after a long and happy life can now die in peace. I have answered the one question that has tweeked me all my life.
I have one follow-up question to ask: Do you think that I will get house arrest if the bishop finds out?
Now, tonight I had a great experience that I have to expose to you because it is sooo, grrreat! It is the story of an answer that came to me at a time when I really though I had found the answer. Read on...
It happened in one of America's five ***** eateries. You guessed it, Mc'D's place. I'm standing there waiting for my number to be called. Four females walk in. Two of them are very evidently sisters. Adults. I mean, VERY evidently. One of them has a female child of about 12 or 13 years of age while the other has a child in the 2 to 3 year range. Since the temperature in our ovenly Southern California city is just above freezing, [Honest, it's only 65F for crying out loud], they are all wearing protective clothing. The three larger ones are sporting flannel, floppy hoodies of the navy blue persuasion and the "baby" is in her puffy, kapok filled jacket that bulges all over the place.
So, the three socially mature individuals go to the counter in front of the cashier's station while the "baby" explores the terrain. She finds the ice cubes by the drinks station and starts to pick them and pitch them. Mother darts away from her position in front of the cashier and captures baby and a couple of ice cubes and saves the day by pointing "baby" in another less precarious direction. Now, you have to listen carefully to what comes. As the mother [I presume it is the mother since she saved the day with great aplomb and authority] is on the way to reclaiming her position at the counter, she passes behind the 12 to 13 year old whose flannel hoody is hanging loosely to below her buttocks. On the way by, supposed mama reaches out and dries her right hand on the tail of the hoody. I am now beside myself. I can't believe what I just saw. My scientific study has been blown to smithereens before my very eyes.
Oops, I quickly regain my composure. I go from monumental disappointment to profound humor. My theory is still intact. She didn't wipe her hands on her pants [she was wearing pants]; she didn't wipe them on the front of her shirt; she wiped them on someone else's clothes! Yahoooo! So that's why we wear clothes...so that everyone has a place to wipe their hands. Why did I never think of that? Why did it have to be a fastidious [no doubt] woman to show it to me? That's why I had to run to my work station as fast as I could to enlighten the world about the truth. We all wear clothes so that everyone, at all times, will have a place to wipe their hands. I, after a long and happy life can now die in peace. I have answered the one question that has tweeked me all my life.
I have one follow-up question to ask: Do you think that I will get house arrest if the bishop finds out?
Reader 1: Sad to say, I can top that one. At my wedding reception, my husband (now ex) wiped his hands on the train of my wedding dress, which was laying in my lap as we ate. He said he thought it was a napkin.
ReplyDeleteMe: I am laughing heartily. I am also sad to hear that it happened on your wedding day. I have to ask, "were his fingers greased up with brown gravy?"
Reader 1: Tomato sauce from lasagna.
Me: Omigosh, worse than I could have imagined. At this distance, looking back, hope you can laugh about it, or at least smile.
Peace, milady,
Reader 2: This puts me in mind of a news clip I saw some months ago of a member of parliament who picked his nose and casually wiped his finger on the jacket of a fellow parliament member. Yuck. And it was all recorded on camera. WOW, but I doubt he was embarrassed.