... and/or Male Pattern Blindness
Let's face it, most men suffer from a genetic weakness, more than one, I'm sure, but let me give my gender the benefit of the doubt for now. My BIL calls the particular and most unfortunate syndrome to which I am referring as Male Pattern Blindness. We all too frequently unable to see what is right in front of our eyes, and pity help us if the object of a search might actually be under something.
A long time ago Roseanne Barr did a stand up routine about men always asking women where such and such might be: "What do they think a womb is, a tracking device?" It applies in our family too as well as just about every other that I know of, so long ago, I began to call Cuppa Womb Tracker whenever I needed to avail myself of that special finding-talent of hers and seemingly of all of the fairer sex.
Somehow, I lost two pairs on underwear several weeks ago. Well, we have bags of clothes going back and forth with us daily to our babysitting gig on the other side of town because, sometimes, we either change or shower or do both over there. It's been so humid here this summer that I invariably return drenched with sweat from my morning walk with Nikki Dee. It's not particularly caused by the heat this relatively cool summer but the humidity. When it hasn't been raining, it's been threatening to downpour, so the humidity has been high almost every day. On most mornings, because the actual air temperature is not terribly high, it seems cool enough when I begin my walk, but, invariably, I am soaked in perspiration by the time the walk is done.
That's one reason why I generally take a change of clothes with me — in case I require a shower after our morning ambulations. And I expected my two missing small clothes to soon appear in the clothes bag as I scrounged about in there. However, after a week and then another, it became apparent that I had a genuine stumper on my hands: the mystery of the missing briefs.
This morning, as I puzzled aloud yet again over this enigma, Cuppa suggested that I check my T-shirt drawer, for I might have mistaken undie cloth for T-shirt cloth if both were in a pile. I then did something that I should have learned never to do by now — offhandedly dismissed my lady's suggestion. I mean to say that I've been putting my briefs in that drawer for donkeys' years now without miscue. In fact, I had just shoved many a freshly laundered pair of Tees in there and seen no small things. Of course, I hadn't been looking; nevertheless ...
Fortunately, I decided to humour her ladyship and at the same time demonstrate to her that I, Moi, couldn't have possibly done such a thing. However, just as I was closing the drawer to inform her that of course I was right for they were not there, uh oh, what did I see? Something just a little different than T-shirt material? "Oh wait a minute dear. Um ... yes, I seem to have found those tricksy little things."
Chalk another one up to Womb Tracker. How do you ladies do that?