It’s a typical weekday morning. I’m doing a bit of cleaning and clothes washing (does that ever end), and events conspire to vex me. I consider myself fairly intelligent. I’m not a rocket scientist or anything, but hey, not many are. Still, I don’t like when I can’t figure something out. It aggravates the OCD in me, like when a picture frame hangs slightly catawampus on the wall or a string dangles from the ceiling just out of reach.
But first, speaking of rocket scientists . . .
Math Nerd in the House
Fun side story. One night not long ago, the hubby came home to find me in dark and stormy humor due to the kids’ atrocious attitudes toward their math homework.
I explained to the hubby I’d tried diligently to help them with their math, but they’d preferred to whine about it instead, and I have zero patience for that mess. (I’ve discussed before how patience with melodramatic kiddoes isn’t particularly my strong suit). Whereupon the hubby remarked, in a breezy, offhand manner, “You know, I made a 790 in math on the SAT.”
My jaw hit the floor. Well H-E-double hockey sticks, babe. Why have I been pulling my hair out over the kids’ comprehension of the blasted subject when you, clearly, are a genius at it? Needless to say, all assistance with the kids’ math homework now has been relegated to the good old hubby. After all, he’s a regular rocket scientist at math.
He cleans up nicely, too! Who said nerds can’t be cool?
Three Eternal Questions for the Confounded Mind
Anyhoo, I’ve never claimed to be a rocket scientist at anything. So this morning, in my fine fettle, I find myself wondering and unable to divine answers to the following mysteries of my household universe:
1. To what dimension does my dryer connect after I turn it on and walk away to do other things?
I realize this isn’t an original complaint or question. I’ve heard it raised many times by many individuals. Nevertheless, the portal to this other world in my dryer must be super-sized. Sometime between when I press the dryer’s start button and when the buzzer signals the load is dry, half the socks in the load disappear. They just vanish. Into thin air. Nothing else, only the socks.
Hmmmm. Something nefarious must be afoot. I’ve stuck my head inside the dryer (a comical sight), but observed no evidence of a hole, nook, or cranny in which the missing socks could be hiding. No secret sock military camp from which they plan to launch a laundry coup exists inside the crevices of the shadowed cylinder of my dryer.
Thus, I’m forced to conclude the missing socks have been whisked away to a Super Secret Sock Dimension (SSSD) via a portal. Not just any portal, mind you. No, this portal opens only when no one is watching through the transparent dryer door and when the dryer speed and temperature reach a particular, yet-to-be-determined threshold. What the nefarious minions of the SSSD do with these unmatched socks is anyone’s guess.
Maybe they exist solely to vex humans and force them to wear unmatched socks. This wouldn’t bother my daughter as she thinks wearing unmatched socks is the latest, greatest fashion trend. I, on the other hand, prefer to have my socks returned. Please.
Meanwhile, the ever-growing pile of unmatched socks on the counter in my utility room pines away for the missing mates to one day return from what has got to be a sock-surplussed SSSD.
2. From where does all the lint that clogs my lint filter come ?
The lint constantly collects, even when I’m not washing towels and fluffy blankets (of which my daughter has a gazillion). Surely we don’t walk around with that much dust on our clothes and not notice it. Wouldn’t most such dust get washed off and drained away in the washing machine anyway?
I regularly change my lint filter. But based on the amount of lint accumulated each time I change the filter, my clothes should have disintegrated by now. This is a conundrum that bugs the spit out of me.
3. How does my cat shed so much hair and not have bald spots?
This time of year I can’t walk through my house without finding clumps of cat hair everywhere. Granted, the cat that sheds is the long-haired cat, and she happens to delight in picking fights with the two short-haired cats.
Whenever I hear yowling akin to what a battle between a screeching demon and a shrieking banshee must sound like, I know she’s again used her feminine wiles to go for one of their jugulars and they took affront at her chicanery. And there’s always a mass of fur left in the wake of their, uh, disagreement.
But she seems to shed globs of fur by simply walking or sleeping. It’s as if she’s generously sprinkling pixie dust where ever she goes. And yet, there’s nary a bald spot on her body. How is this possible? At this rate, I probably could make a respectable wig of cat hair to sell to owners of cat’s with challenged follicles.
What about you? Surely I’m not the only one who comes across confounding things such as these as I toodle around my house? What vexes you?