I’ve made more than a few trips around the Sun. During each one I’ve learned a some things. Things like don’t stick your finger in a light socket; if you leave leftovers in the refrigerator too long, you’ll end up having to throw out the container; and never buy your wife an electric can opener as a gift, even if she asks for it.
Yet, with all this wisdom, there are many things that remain a mystery to me. Admittedly, they aren’t deep mysteries whose solutions will alter the course of human existence. More along the lines of why things that are good for you often taste bad and things that are bad for you always taste good.
There are some things I just don’t understand.
I have a pair of pajama pants that have pockets. Why? What am I taking to bed that I need pockets? My worries and anxieties? That’s what my brain is for. Do I need to carry my ID in case I get stopped by the Dream Police? I’ve never been trying to go to sleep and wondered what to do with my hands or wished I had a place to carry my lip balm in case I need to prevent wind burn from the ceiling fan.
I’ve done quite a bit of laundry over the years. I don’t necessarily enjoy it, but I don’t dread or hate it either. I suspect that’s because it involves machinery. Guys love anything that spins, whirs, has dials, knobs and a motor. In all that laundry, I’ve noticed my wife also has a few pair of pajamas with pockets. Yet, many of her pants –slacks and jeans–either have no pockets or micro pockets only large enough to store lint and even that is often a stretch. I guess we still have some work to do when it comes to women’s rights. They won the right to vote, can’t we give them decently sized pockets?
There are some things I just don’t understand.
Like why prescription drug ads always tell us not to take their product if we’re allergic to it or any of its ingredients? How do I know if I’m allergic to a product that didn’t exist yesterday and was given a name by some marketing think-tank that defies the rules of phonics? To be fair, they do say that if you are allergic to any of its ingredients, don’t take it. So, I guess it is possible that you might be able to tell if you’re allergic. That is if you happen to have a degree in pharmacology.
There are some things I just don’t understand.
I’ve noticed toilet paper commercials have gotten rather creative. We have cartoon bears who are conscientious about having toilet paper pieces sticking to their fur and carrying on about softness and “enjoying the go.” Nothing wrong with being a “regular” bear, but never have I gotten excited about how soft the t-p is. As long as it’s there when I need it and it doesn’t contain wood chips, I'm good. Then, there are the women in the supermarket singing about their rolls of quilted two-ply. This conjures up an image of a group of grandmothers sitting around at a toilet paper quilting bee stitching roll after roll.
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against advertising a product. After all, that’s how I earn a living. But do they truly need to advertise toilet paper? Has anyone seen a toilet paper commercial and said, “You know, I’ve never seen the need to use that stuff, but those bears sure make it look good. Maybe I should give it a try.” Not likely.
There are some things I just don’t understand.
Golf carts with GPS. Someone was talking about this on the radio, and I got curious. A quick search revealed that people put GPS trackers on their golf carts in case they get stolen. Either that or they are extremely forgetful and often can’t remember where they left the thing. That makes sense. But reading on I learned that some of them also come equipped with mapping GPS that can help you get to your destination. How far are you driving in a golf cart that you need a navigation system? “Hey kids, jump in the golf cart. We’re headed for the beach!”
They also offer preloaded maps of golf courses. Apparently, some courses allow you to bring your own cart. I almost understand, if it’s your first time on a course. But the cart path should be a dead giveaway. After all, we’re talking 18 holes, not 18 miles.
So many mysteries…so little time.
