BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Dads, as a general rule, should keep their observations to themselves, especially in the context of the mother, daughter, dad triangle.

Trust me, it’s easy to get lost in there. Easier than the Bermuda Triangle.

Such a sweeping statement, as usual, begs the question, “Why?”

The answer, simply enough, is “Y.”

You see, dads aren’t properly equipped in the genetics department. It’s that pesky optional vowel that is causing all of the trouble, apparently. Probably a throwback to some sort of Welsh ancestry, but who really knows. If there’s a Y, you’re pretty much out of the loop. Case in point…

We were sitting in the living room the other night – that being E K, the O-spring, and Moi – just vegetating and staring at the idiot box. We were probably looking at Castle, or some such. I don’t really remember, which is probably another Y affliction. But on with the example… The show broke for a commercial or two or ten, and on came an umpteen second spot for a department store chain and their gihugic, must-attend, low-Low-LOW price sale on all manner of latest and greatest fashionable women’s shoes. Of course, in order to illustrate how wonderful the selection, they proceeded to show umpty-jillion different shoes in the span of 10 seconds.

Now… I have nothing against women’s shoes. They aren’t something for which I go shopping – unless the redhead tells me to – but by the same token I don’t think there should be a ban on them or anything. Fact is, the redhead herself happens to have some pretty hot shoes. By themselves, not really so special, but when she’s wearing them… well, there’s a total package thing happening that… Well… We we won’t go there…

Back to the commercial. You see, as they prattled on about all of the different styles available, they proceeded to show all manner of boots. However, the thing about several of them was that they had no toes. Granted, it was partly because nobody was wearing them, but my point here is that there was no toe to the shoe. As in, whoever happened to wear them would have their wee little piggies exposed. Now, to me, given that these were boots – a type of shoe that is designed to protect not only your foot, but your ankle, and depending upon the type, your calf as well – it seemed a bit odd that one would go through all that trouble and leave the toes exposed.

I stated as much. Aloud. In the same room with E K and the O-spring.

“What kind of sense does that make?” I asked.

“I like them,” E K replied.

“Really?” I said. I’m sure there was a bit of incredulity in my voice, because the redhead complains quite a bit about her feet getting cold. Then I asked, “Why?”

With a dramatic sigh the O-spring took it upon herself to answer for all of shoe loving womankind: “You’re not a girl. You just don’t get shoes.”

Apparently it really is all about that Y. I guess the X’s have it…

More to come…

Murv