https://www.sandylingo.com/he-cant-find-anything/
Though we adore men individually
We agree that as a group they’re rather stupid.
(Lyrics from “Sister Suffragette,” Mary Poppins)
I hand my husband a notepad and say, “Could you please (I’m pretty sure I used the magic word) put this in the thing on the counter?”
“The thing,” he says, repeating it as if it is a foreign word he is practicing.
“You know, Sweetheart (well, maybe I didn’t use this exact word), the red thing on the kitchen counter.
“The red thing. On the counter?”
“You know, the red leather box on the end of the counter, the thing we use to keep things tidy like you like?”
I imagine my male readers, who are genetically predisposed to not knowing the location of “things,” are sympathizing with my husband. They might say, “Give him a break! ‘Thing’ isn’t much to go on.”
This “thing” has been on our kitchen counter for a decade. It is the only thing on the counter that holds things. Things like notepads, expired grocery coupons, and untried recipes with truffle oil or hogget or enoki listed as ingredients. The only thing on the counter tangentially related to this thing is the toaster, which, I guess you could argue, holds things—bread, bagels, English muffins. Not note pads.
Last week Rick was searching for baby Aspirin in the bathroom vanity. If you are young, I may need to school you on the off-label application of baby aspirin. Baby aspirin is for babies, yes, but also for old folks with blood as thick as Turkish coffee.
He said, “I looked in that white plastic bin with all your medicines. I guess we’re out of baby aspirin.”
“Alexa,” he shouted, “Put. Baby. Aspirin. On. The. Shopping. List.”
Alexa responded, “I can’t find that song.”
He repeated the demand, even louder this time, and added, “81 mg tablets.”
Alexa said, “I put bay leaves on your shopping list. And Viagra.”
I retrieved said bin and plucked out the economy-size bottle of 40,000 aspirin and handed it to him. I am quite certain, or at least pretty sure, I didn’t slam the vanity door shut.
Yesterday it was the ketchup. He stood in front of the refrigerator, both doors and vegetable crisper drawers open. “I guess we don’t have any ketchup,” he announced, as the door-open beeping signal complained. I tapped him on the shoulder (surely I didn’t shove him out of the way) and seized the 128 ounce-jug of Heinz. There are 57 varieties of spousal annoyance.
When I returned from a conference last week, he greeted me at the door, crowing about how he had cleaned the house. Translation: He pushed the button on the Roomba. He put his dirty socks in the hamper.
And he labored like a lumberjack to unload the dishwasher. It’s been a game of Hide and Seek ever since.
The turkey baster is in with the spatulas, the colander is in with the mixing bowl, the coffee cups are in with the juice glasses. Who freaking does that? (I just threw up a little in my mouth.)
But I didn’t complain, because this is better than when he empties the dishwasher onto the counter.
And yet, this is the same man who can find the one bumblebee with a pimple on its bottom to photograph.
He can find the warranty for the blender we bought during the Carter administration.
He can find the speck of cilantro I snuck into the salsa. He can find the Macy’s receipt I hid under the coffee grounds in the trash. He can find (with his feet) the single tack that sprang from the corkboard. He can even find the pair of saggy workout shorts I hate and hid in the back of his bottom dresser drawer.
He can find in a nanosecond our passports, leftover Norwegian Kroner, immunization records. (He keeps them—get this– in an alphabetical accordion file, under “T” for “travel.” Who freaking does that?)
And somehow he found me in the most unlikely place nearly 50 years ago, on the porch of the TKE fraternity house talking to his girlfriend, Easy Joan.
And somehow he can look at my wrinkled face, past the age spots and enlarged pores and grey eyebrows, and find beauty.
And he can still find me under the covers . . .
unless he’s yanked them all to his side of the bed.
I had a friend that had the same problem with her husband. One day when he asked where the keys were and then where the remote was she responded,” Do you think the uterus is a honing device, that I can just turn around and locate things?” He has cut back on the where is questions.
Hilarious. This is my life everyday. I so love when he empties the dishes in the dishwater onto the counter. Is it that they do not understand one must sometimes slide the jar of jelly over to see the pickles? Thanks for the laughs.
Oh! Sandy! I’m laughing myself silly. It’s all true. Every bit of it. You captured it, spot on. Thank you, thank you!
You’re on your game Sandy! Ha! Ha! Living with someone for 30 years and they don’t know
where the spatula is or even their own nuts and bolts… items I don’t use (maybe I should learn how?) or screws. I have to hunt them down. Last week it was the hammer he didn’t put back which I needed and of course it wasn’t in the place we usually keep it.
Love your blog Sandy. And I can relate to this one for sure.
This is one of your best! All of us who are married to one of “those” can certainly relate! Love the ending!
Hahaha! So true! I can picture my husband, too, standing in front of the open fridge, asking where something is—- lately, my response has been “Look, just like I would have to look!” As you can imagine, this is not a popular response.
Or as my mom always said to us and I now repeat, “You might have to move something!”
Oh!! So true! After mucho years together when my husbands asks where something is, I just say I don’t know, and don’t jump up to help him find it when it’s right under his nose. However, now my finder radar needs tweaking and I’m having trouble finding things under my nose.
Sandy, as always, your blogs are laugh out loud funny! I can certainly find my husband looking for Advil that is in his medicine cabinet. Now you need to write one about husbands who can’t remember what you told them an hour ago. If you haven’t had that experience I will write it for you!
You hit the mark, again! Heaven forbid what they’re looking for has been moved to the other side of the shelf, in a different drawer compartment, or behind a newly purchased item in the cupboard. If it doesn’t scream “here I am”, it must not be there. BTW, love, love, love Easy Joan.
Sandy, this was the most quiet, smiling laughter I have enjoyed for quite a while. Thanks so much for this “Lingo” blog and keep ’em coming.