Today my husband came upstairs to ask me to help him look for his wallet because he'd "looked everywhere" and couldn't find it. When I came downstairs, it was sitting right on the counter. In plain sight. Right. On. The. Counter.
It made me think of a blog post I'd done a couple of years ago, so in honor of my husband's morning gaffe, I decided to re-post this serious health warning to all you women out there:
(Originally posted Sept. 20, 2009)
So something’s been happening around my house lately. Or rather, to my son.
I mean, I knew he was a boy. The doctor told me so on the day he was born. And I was thrilled. Ecstatic. A boy! My boy. And, boy, how this boy would be different. A sensitive, sweet boy. The kind who would listen to what women had to say, who would talk…actually *talk* when asked questions, engaging in, get this, conversation. He wouldn’t respond to questions with just one-word answers or, worse, grunts.
And he was. For years, my little angel told me precious things, like that he wanted to marry me and live with me forever. Okay, maybe not for years, maybe just when he was four, but it was still the sweetest thing ever. And when he hugged, it was different than when the girls did it. His hugs were softer, cuddlier. He melted into me. I wanted to eat him up.
And then it started, a few years ago…the change.
At first it was just the no-more-hand-holding in public. Okay, fine, he doesn’t want to be a sissy, I could live with that. I kept my own hands stuffed carefully inside my pockets, lest I forget the rule.
Then it was the transition into the one-word conversation.
Me: “How was your day?”
Me: “What’d you do?”
Me: “Really? Nothing?”
And, usually, I could coax him back into the world of multi-word dialogue.
But lately, it’s other things, too. Man things.
I honestly believed that this most recent affliction was restricted only to my husband, but as I’ve asked around, it seems that it’s more of a male species sort of thing.
MALE PATTERN BLINDNESS.
So how can you spot the warning signs of Male Pattern Blindness? Well, the answer is simple, conversations between you and the male in question will go a little something like this:
Potentially infected male: “Have you seen my [insert any item here: remote control/car keys/Coca Cola]?”
You: “Where have you looked?”
Him: “Everywhere.” (Note the one-word response)
You: “Did you look in the [insert most obvious location here: couch/pockets/fridge]?”
Him: “Uh-huh.” (This is very nearly a grunt)
You: *sigh* “Fine. Let me look.” You check and find said item in the *exact* location you just discussed. Sitting in plain sight. Or in the case of the remote, possibly wedged slightly between two cushions, which as you can imagine *would* be somewhat confusing.
Ladies, I’m begging you, this is serious! This is neither a joke nor a drill. We need to act quickly before our sons and brothers are poisoned by whatever is ailing or husbands and fathers.
I’m worried that I might already be too late for my sweet little boy, that hormones have already clouded his vision so badly that he can no longer see that bright red can of Coke staring at him from the shelf on the fridge.
Let’s not let it happen to your sons too.