Every time I pull a tissue from a tissue box in my house (once or twice a week), it’s always the LAST one in the box–even the box beneath my beside table reserved solely for my personal consumption. What does this say about our family dynamic?
- Do others’ allergies outpace mine so dramatically?
- Am I unknowingly using tissue in some fugue state, after which I suffer PTSD symptoms due to the trauma of blowing my nose and promptly forget I’ve indulged?
- Are my men scurrying about, from one box to the next, looking for ways to score their next tissue hit while avoiding the horror of reaching into the linen closet for a new box?
- Do they have a covert scanning method I’m not privy to, where infrared sensors alert to the immanent arrival of the final tissue, so they can be certain not to remove it from the box???
My entire morning will be consumed, pondering said mysteries…
Tags: Anna DeStefano, anna's world, creativity & inspiration
They are men. ‘Nuf said, LOL!