lost in the third dimension
I have long observed in man (and by man I mean men, not mankind) a tendency to forget that we live in three-dimensional space.
Take, for example, the refrigerator. If a man is looking for something -- let's say milk -- and it isn't located in the foremost plane of the fridge, the milk doesn't exist. It doesn't matter if the milk is scarcely obscured by an insignificant object like a jar of Grey Poupon -- if it isn't immediately apparent like a full-grown elephant in the vast expanse of a savanna, its existence is called into question.
I have a working theory that this male dimensional challenge is what makes table surfaces preferable to drawers, gives counter tops more appeal than cupboards, and leaves crisper drawers forlorn like vestigial organs. It also explains why chairs, sofas, and beds slowly evolve into valets and closets.
Most perplexing to me is that some of these men have less trouble wrapping their heads around four-dimensional spacetime or multi-dimensional string theory than notions like behind, between, and inside.
Take, for example, my darling husband. He's hands-down one of the smartest and most observant people I've ever met, or am ever likely to meet. After several hours of reading, he peeled himself off the sofa and away from his book to hunt for his iPhone. He hunted and hunted. Many minutes later...
Him: Do you know where my phone is?
Me: No. Why don't you call it?
Him: <dials>
Stage Left: <muffled ringing sounds coming from underneath the book he was just reading>
Ah, yes. The phone was lost in yet another one of the many faces worn by the ever elusive third-dimension: under.
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