Let me first state that I am definitely neither a “male chauvinist pig” nor am I a “woman hater”. These are terms that my wife sometimes uses to describe me , when I do something wrong (which is most of the time) or she's “out of sorts”. Just the opposite is true. It has long been my belief that when He created a woman, He created a work of artistic beauty and probably had to work overtime.
There is however, a vast difference between a man and a woman, and their philosophical outlook on life and that is the attic.
The two genders even seem to differ on why an attic was invented.
A man feels that the attic is a location to store useful items not being used at the time.
A woman feels that the attic is a place to store totally useless, but reminiscent items. Items structured around the family's children.
I.E., “Do you remember when Mary used these roller skates?
-Or- “Honey, remember when you and Connie played this pinball machine in the basement?”
The man may state that he surely does, when he, generally, is lying through his teeth, as he is having extreme trouble remembering what took place yesterday and the encounter with Connie , the pinball machine, Mary and the skates would have been at least forty years ago.
The roller skates in question, haven't been in a rink for over 40 years, and are rusted beyond belief, as is also the case with the
miniature pinball machine. In fact it is so old that there is no longer any possibility of seeing the game through the imitation glass cover and all of the balls have disintegrated.
The man is very careful not to be overheard, when he asks himself the question, “Why in the world didn't we give this to charity when it was still useful.”
But, then out of fear of bodily harm, he puts the question that he has posed to himself, “on hold.”
The man in this dialogue chang
es gears and asks himself “and why in heavens name aren't things arranged more orderly?”“The holiday decoration stuff is all arranged in specific spots, but the remaining items remind you of a closet that is about to disappear under the weight of disorganization!”
As a matter of fact, every time I open our closet door, a tennis racket falls on my head.”
But, we digress from the point in question, which is the attic, so all I can say , “the closet remains another subject that will be covered in its entirety at another time.”
One of the first things an aspiring writer is told is to remove all clutter from his writing.
Well, all that aspiring new writer has to do is come to my house for an audition. That writer will leave our house with the full knowledge of whether he/she possesses that ability.
Why am I the least bit concerned about organization when I am the spokesperson for disorganization?
Well, everything has its place, and I believe firmly that everything
belongs in that place, wherever that is.
Our country is faced with gigantic debt to the extent of 9 trillion dollars. The interest alone is over 1 1/2 billion dollars per day.
However, if we could somehow convince our women to clean out their attics of useless “stuff” and give it to the government, America would be more than able to pay that debt.
Each time I have to go to the attic I begin to mumble “a sight of more useless “stuff”.
I was extremely lucky upon my last ascension to “that storage place in the heavens”.
Upon reaching the place, my attention was immediately drawn to one of Mary's or Connie's used to be dolls.
Somehow squirrels had gotten into the attic and done many things of destruction. One of which was to totally destroy the face of Mary or Connie's doll (I can never remember just who that doll belongs to!)
Although, I was being careful, my next step planted a foot right on another item we had in “storage” and I lost my balance and began to fall backwards. (Now I feel compelled to describe the physical layout of our attic.
Most of it is covered with plywood, especially
where we store our holiday decorations. The remainder is nothing but a thin sheet rock, through which one can easily go to the level below.)
In that I was falling in an area that didn't have any plywood. I had pretty well resigned myself to shortly become an occupant of the second floor when a neighbor boy appeared.
I yelled to him “fall”, and he thought I said ball, so he through me our useless, but in this case handy beach ball.
In that I was falling at the time, I couldn't play “catch” with him at that moment, but the ball did land behind me and absorbed the weight of my body, so I did not become a resident of that second floor.
This beach ball is extremely resilient and has a lot of bounce.
Unfortunately, I bounced off the ball and my entire body went into the screen I had built to keep the squirrels out (talk about something useless!)
Uselessness and attic are apparently synonymous terms.
This screen is also very resilient. It bounced my body back to
the beach ball.
Here I was bouncing between a beach ball and the screen and I thought at that moment, residence on the second floor wouldn't be so bad.
The beach ball bounced me onto some solid plywood and I came out of this ordeal, completely unscathed.
As I sat there on the plywood trying to re-establish my act because I had completely forgotten why I has made the trip to attic in the first place, I was thanking God for beach balls and little neighbor boys. Out of fear and my cussing in flight, the little neighbor boy had decided it best for him to disappear from the scene.
That night, upon further deliberation coupled with recuperation, I resolved myself to accept the woman's point of view about the attic, although never about the basement!
