Hey, who moved my stuff? No, that makes no sense there
By Burton W. Cole
All I wanted was to go to bed. Instead, stacks of freshly laundered and folded T’s, socks, pants, shorts and shirts covered the quilt.
Ugh. I hate doing laundry.
“Doing what?” my wife snapped. “I sorted, washed, dried and folded four loads of clothes. The very least you could do is put YOUR own clothes away for a change.”
Terry clearly was in one of her unreasonable moods. I scooped up the T-shirts and muttered my way to the dresser.
“Somebody put my long-sleeved T-shirts in my short-sleeved drawer,” I bellowed. I balled up the misplaced shirts and whipped open the next drawer. “Why are my white T-shirts in the bottom drawer? This is all messed up.”
“It’s winter,” she said, as if that explained anything. “You want warmer shirts in easier reach. I rearranged your clothes to make sense.”
“Every time you make sense, I can’t find any of my stuff.” I slammed a drawer. “Where do I keep my socks now? I can’t find my socks.”
There was a time when I knew where everything was in my house. Then I got married. I’ve been buffeted and battered senseless by “sense” ever since.
No, don’t rearrange my garage tools by size and color.
I left the pages on the printer because my briefcase already is in THAT room. Why would you think that dropping them anywhere else, including on my lap, in any other room is logical?
Quit putting my gloves “away” where they “belong.” I swear, “away” and “belong” have changed six times since we’ve been married. That’s why I stash my gloves next to the vitamins — so I remember them in the morning. By the way, where do “we” keep the vitamins now?
Sigh.
One morning, I dashed for the door late for work — because I’d spent too much time tearing through the house trying figure out where I keep my socks, vitamins, gloves and printouts now — and made a blind snatch for the car keys. I came up empty.
“Somebody stole the keys!”
“Calm down,” Terry said. “They’re right there.”
I squinted at the key rack by the back door. “They’re on the wrong peg.”
“They’re hanging on inch away from where you put them,” she said. “Anyone could see that.”
“I didn’t”
“Of course you couldn’t.” She sighed. “They aren’t lost or stolen. I simply put them where it made sense.”
“Why did you move my cheese... uh, keys?”
“The peg board tilts. But if you move your keys over one peg, the board balances. It’s logical.”
“It makes no sense to hide everything I need,” I muttered as I reached for my hat. “Hey!”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Terry said. She reached a foot to left, picked up my ball cap and smacked it onto my head. “Is that logical enough for you or would you prefer to wear it on your ear? Maybe hanging from your belt?”
“I have hung my hat from my belt before.”
“Why would you...? No, never mind. I don’t want to know. Nothing you do makes sense.”
“I married you.”
“Well, almost nothing,” she said. “Without me, how would you know where anything was.”
“Because it would be where I left it.”
I leaned in for a kiss right as she turned to pick up my lunch bag. I missed her lips and got a snoot full of hair and ear. Why does she have to move EVERYTHING?
Search for Burt’s stuff at www.burton.w.cole.com, the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook, or www.burtonwcole.com.