I have barely gotten used to thinking of myself as middle-aged, though it’s unlikely I will live to be 122, but still, the mind and the body are not really in agreement here. And truth be told, the mind is also no longer nearly as quick as it once was. The right word is often elusive, to the point where it will come to me hours – even days – later, totally out of the blue, and I will triumphantly exclaim, ” Huey Lewis!” in answer to a question that may actually no longer come to mind either. But I digress (as is often the case). Give me the whole “middle-aged” thing and I will get on with my thought.
At this point in middle-age, is it really necessary for me to check every pocket before I do the laundry? And by “every pocket” I clearly am not including MY pockets. They are never the issue. I mean, sure, if you have a five-year-old or even ten-year-old in the house, it’s wise to check those pockets. But must I check the pockets of a man very nearly at the same state of middle-age as I am? In fact, a mere spring chicken, or rooster, being fourteen months younger than I. Apparently the answer is yes.
Said man, who shall remain nameless though you all know who he is, is prone to carrying paper towels in his pockets. Sometimes these paper towels will go through washer and dryer intact – a nice clean, warm little bundle presented to me in the same pocket when laundry is being folded. How charming, I think. Okay, I don’t think that, but I could. Other times, upon opening the lid of the washer, it is apparent immediately that some small riot has occurred during the laundering process. Clearly bits of paper towel have chosen sides in a massive paper towel war, determined to obliterate the opposing side.
Like today, when what met me upon opening the lid was at least a hundred bits of paper towel, firmly attached to everything from jeans to t-shirts as if by glue. The number may be a bit of an exaggeration, but it certainly seemed to be that many, if not more. Wouldn’t you think that a gingerly shake of a t-shirt would dislodge a piece of paper towel? How about the vicious thrashing of a pair of jeans? Nope. Twas not to be. Instead I had to pick pieces off by hand, which was quite hard to do given the thick blue air surrounding me which seemed to emanate from the rather colorful language escaping my lips.
Funny, I had no problem remembering those words.
In the grand scheme of things it was maybe twenty minutes or a half hour of time wasted. And it did get me fired up enough to finally open my blog, so there’s that.
Oh, by the way, Happy New Year!