Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Friday, September 13, 2013

Hiding the Evidence


Countries worldwide are concealing their contraband WMD. Citizens in America are dodging the IRS. I take note and hide the incriminating evidence of my own indiscretions.

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I spend more time at home these days. Unfortunately, some of my old habits are re-surfacing. My wife is taking notice.

We play a silly game, an adult version of hide and seek. I hide things, she finds them. Concealed contraband goes undercover.

What’s this?” she asks, finding chocolate bars hidden in an old coffee can, or pop tarts under a bag of dog food. The inquisition begins. Household bliss packs its bags, heads for the door. Turmoil lurks outside, waiting for its opportunity to slip inside. Men are advised not to spend too much time around the house.

In the old days, work and children covered up a multitude of my indiscretions. What seemed then to be demonic afflictions---deadlines, carpools, soccer games--- were actually blessings. But when these wretched hardships ceased, I found myself being more covert in shrouding secrets.

I have a shirt fetish. I’ve never met a shirt I didn’t like. Last week I bought fourteen. Shirt lust is a hard habit to quit. I have enough shirts to last until the Second Coming. I have to hide the new ones.

Why? To avoid chastisement. My wife runs the house Laundromat ever since I washed her lingerie with blue jeans. Nothing is hidden from her scrutiny.

Hey, new shirt,” she says. “What will you wear THAT with?” I’m deficit in color coordination…pink flamingos on a black background go with everything, right? Hiding the evidence is essential. But where? Well, for starters, where no woman would ever touch…a man’s gym bag.

She found my favorite Elvis coffee cup cringing behind the Wild Turkey bottle. It later showed up in the trashcan, beaten to bits with a hammer. She blamed the dishwasher. She’s happier now that I have morning coffee in a thimble-sized china demitasse.

I have a Mason jar with a handle. It holds 72 ounces of sweet tea. It’s outlawed in New York, but worshipped in Ludowici. It’s a favorite among truck drivers. I hide it outside under the grill cover.

Why are you always checking out the grill?” she asks. I pretend not to hear…deaf is a good defense for men of all ages.

You’re going deaf,” she says. “Huh? Say what?” I play along. “Never mind,” she says. See? Try it yourself.

My wife has a PhD in hiding evidence…the iPad. This device leads to a lot of damage. Clearly, it was conceived by a woman. She pretends to play cards, do crossword puzzles, or read. I sometimes peek. Instantly the fleeting image of a Neiman Marcus ad disappears into the ether.

What was that?” I inquire humbly. “Nothing,” she answers. Women are adept at disguising ‘nothings’ that sooner or later become significant ‘somethings.’ American Express statements don’t lie!

It’s important to have separate credit cards. My wife piles up points by the thousands. How? Guess! As for me, I don’t have enough points for one night at Eulonia Motel Six, which, unfortunately, did show up once on my Visa. It elicited quite a bit of explanatory dialogue.

I change hiding places frequently. I once hid a new pistol in an old suitcase. I forgot where it was until my wife took the bag through airport security. The events that followed don’t bear repeating.

I try to help around the house. I often make up the bed. I wad up my pajamas and hide them behind a pillow. Folding is woman’s work. Men have questionable motives with their beneficent acts in domestic affairs.

I hide my serious reading material in a box in the attic. Things like comic books and certain photographic magazines of questionable intellectual and moral value. “Why do you always go up there?” she asks. “Reviewing some old photographs,” I say truthfully. She can’t see my grin!

A friend once had an off-premises storage unit, complete with a sofa. It was the man-cave for his licentious library. As it happened he got trapped when the door jammed. He disappeared for a week. He now reads literature without pictures at home.

Creative hiding places abound. Yesterday I stashed the latest Cracker Barrel purchase inside of the heating vent.

It’s gonna be a bad day when the heat comes on…or when she discovers my box of Moon Pies.

Bud Hearn
September 13, 2013

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