The Middle Age Follies
A Slightly Skewed Look At Life
By And For Those Of Us On The North Side Of 50
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* Part 12, Vol 351, Sub series 4, chapter 117, Paragraph 8, Clause 79, sub-paragraph 245 (xu – subset iii of Series 107 Edition G, file folder # 312 of 468)
My wife cannot leave the house unless she is wearing … her earrings. Bless her heart, she does get quite upset when she arrives at a destination and realizes she’s forgotten to put them on.
Now, my wife’s hair extends past her ears, so the only view of her actual ear comes from (a) her ear doctor—last visited in early September, 1993—or (b) the microscopic mites that reside on the inside of her pharyngotympanic tube, which, as you all know, is the tube linking our nasopharynx to the middle ear.
Surprisingly, neither of those considerations matter. Go figure!
Me, I’m good as long as I have my pants on. This is true even if I’ve put them on backwards, or—as has occurred on two separate occasions—upside down. (Don’t ask, and do not try that at home.)
For me, “on” serves as the key, operative phrase. If in any manner whatsoever they adorn part of my anatomy as I walk out the front door—rather than maintaining their presence on the floor of my closet, I am good to go!
That’s why I don’t quite appreciate the seriousness of an earringless departure from home. The occasional time when I leave the house pantsless, it’s just not that big a deal most of the time. To my way of thinking, I’ll be back there at some point, so I’ll just put my pants on then.
But we men are different that way, so perhaps there are some social norms we don’t fully respect re: earringness, but I can say that I’m trying to figure things out.
I still have a ways to go, however. During one of the recent holiday seasons, stupid me went to the local produce market the day before Thanksgiving, and—hard to believe that someone of my advanced years could do this, but it is the truth—I came back home having purchased the wrong color of potatoes. I know, I know … I’ve asked myself this same question a thousand times: what was I thinking?
All I can say is that it’s a good thing I have a wife who is so caring and so attentive to the little things which make a small event a great one. Unfortunately, that was not of those occasions.
With Christmas just around the corner, however, my wife surprised me with a four-foot by four-foot color coded vegetable matching chart. (“For the idiot husbands who are clueless about which shade of potato brings out the most vivid greens in cucumbers or broccoli.”)
I’ll admit, that is a very catchy advertising slogan….
One more thing before I wrap this up. The correct shade of spud topic reminds me of another lesson learned the hard way: identifying the proper match of lipstick shade with women’s accessories. No matter how many times she has asked my opinion, I am still unable to coordinate my wife’s lipstick colors with her shoes. I just have a blind spot about that, and I’m stumped!
From where I’m usually sitting when she asks for my opinion (sometimes I think she does so just to bolster my self-esteem, designed in no small part to keep me from brooding over some other pastel-related faux pas), there are pretty much just two colors: red and not-quite-so-red.
A popular third shade: “Stranded On An Island At Sunset Reddish” is saved only for special social engagements, and it’s a no-brainer on those occasions as to which version (the water-infused “Splash of the Beach” gloss, versus the standard “Soothing Rays” moisture-sealant, hint-of-rhododendron scented Basic Reddish) is the correct choice.
One would think that with just two choices, I should average close to a 50% success rate. Of course, I’m not including decisions involving the suede-radiant luster-sheen Henna-ish … duh! (Like I don’t know how inappropriate that would be on a Saturday evening function. Give me some credit, okay?)
Where was I drifting? Oh, yes … I actually have maintained a zero percent success rate for a now-record 46 consecutive weeks.
Then again, it’s entirely possible I’ve unknowingly elevated my status to Default Wrong Husband. My choice for … well, anything, actually, is the incorrect or otherwise inappropriate one. My wife can’t go wrong ignoring me every single time I offer an opinion!
Take that, all you losers!