The Case of the Mysteriously Moved Dish Towel—and other prime-time moments at Casa Jones
I saw an ad for reality-show casting, and because this is how my brain works, I immediately wondered what kind of reality show I would be.
My first thought was:
BORING.
Watching me type, read a book, or try to get three stars in whatever *Angry Birds* game is currently challenging my dignity would be a lot like watching paint dry.
Possibly slower.
There would be long scenes of me staring at a computer. Longer scenes of me staring at a book. And occasional bursts of action when I realize McDonald’s is about to stop serving breakfast.
This is not exactly the stuff of prime-time television.
But then I got to wondering.
The hubs and I can be funny. Or scary. I’m not sure which.
The Case of the Mysteriously Moved Dish Towel
One weekend, we spent half an hour arguing about who had picked up a dish towel from the floor.
I know. Weird.
The beyond-weird part was that the problem was not that the towel had been left on the floor.
The problem was that someone had picked it up.
It was supposed to be there.
We had a leak, and I was trying to track it to the source. I had placed the towel in a strategic position for leak-detection purposes. (I eventually identified our ice maker as the culprit.)
Hence, the towel on the floor.
Do you think my odds of becoming a reality star would improve if the producers knew I could use hence in a sentence?
The hubs’ defense was basically this:
“When do I pick up anything off the floor?”
It was a powerful argument.
Unfortunately for him, I had proof. I knew I hadn’t picked it up. We don’t even have a cat anymore, so there was no convenient household accomplice to blame.
It had to be him.
He denies this, of course.
The Long Game
The hubs likes to play mind games on me. He’ll go for years doing—or not doing—something, and then one day he will randomly do—or not do—it so I can’t accuse him of always doing—or not doing—it.
He’s kind of diabolical when he isn’t being a totally sweet teddy bear.
Which could also be part of his diabolical plan.
Hmmmm.
After living with the man for fifty-one years, I know whereof I speak.
Did you see that, reality-show producers? I used hence and whereof in the same post. That ought to be worth at least a pilot episode.
Of course, we would need a title.
The Joneses doesn’t seem to have that extra something. And Keeping Up with the Joneses is a cliché. I may be boring as rocks, but I am not a cliché.
Besides, no one has to work very hard to keep up with us. Most people blow right past.
Maybe the show could be called Hence, the Towel.
Or The Ice Maker Did It.
Or possibly *Fifty-One Years and Nobody Confessed*.
Scenes from an Ordinary Life
Our episodes probably wouldn’t include luxury vacations, dramatic table-flipping, or elaborate competitions.
They would feature the wrong floor wax, the wrong breakfast cereal, and taxes filed later than intended. There would be extensive footage of my hermit tendencies and the hubs falling asleep without warning.
Yes, even in the middle of an argument.
That could create suspense. Will he wake up before I finish making my point? Will the argument resume? Will either of us admit who moved the towel?
I’m beginning to think we might have enough material for more than one episode.
And I’ll bet we could get McDonald’s to sponsor it.
Maybe None of Us Is Actually Boring
Reality television takes ordinary moments and edits them until they look dramatic. Real life does the opposite. It hands us moments that are funny, touching, ridiculous, or baffling, and we hurry past them because they seem too ordinary to matter.
But ordinary life is where most of our best stories happen.
They’re in the private jokes that have lasted for decades. The arguments no one wins. The tiny mysteries that become family legends. The people who know exactly how to make us laugh—and which carefully placed towel they should not move.
Maybe a camera crew wouldn’t find our lives exciting.
Then again, maybe they simply wouldn’t know where to look.
So now I want to know: if your life were a reality show, what would it be called? And what would the title of this week’s episode be?
I’m hoping someone out there can beat The Case of the Mysteriously Moved Dish Towel.
Perilously yours,
Pauline