Why is it that men are fascinated by things we don’t understand?

For example, I don’t understand this whole UFO phenomenon but I am so fascinated by it that a couple of weekends ago I spent about eight straight hours watching TV shows about UFOs. Did you know the government has a list of procedures to strictly adhere to in the event you actually are approached and/or confronted by a creature from another planet?

Well, they do. It’s all typed out and has an official logo and everything.

The government must figure that the aliens are watching us and it’s just a matter of time until we cross paths.

I don’t know how the government decided the method of distributing this list because I never got a copy. Maybe there’s a certain segment of society the government figures is more likely to see a flying saucer than others and those are the folks who got the list of procedures. This is fine with me because I have my own personal list of procedures to follow should I ever come face to face with an alien being. It involves basically two steps:

Step 1.) Turn and face the opposite direction;

Step 2.) Run very, very fast until I am either a safe distance from said alien being or said alien being uses its ray gun to vaporize me into a fine mist.

By the way, I have noticed that one’s chances of seeing a UFO greatly increase in direct proportion to how deserted the road is on which one is driving late at night and/or the number of frosty libations one has imbibed.

Some other examples of things men don’t understand are:

— How the people who make rental movies know the size of our television screens. Have you noticed that sometimes when you watch a rented movie, it says “this motion picture has been formatted to fit this screen.” That’s amazing. How do they know the size of my TV screen?

— Why the floor the pharmacist stands on is often several inches higher than the rest of the drug store. How well a prescription medication works is apparently directly proportional to the number of feet above sea level at which it is stored and/or dispensed.

— Why women put those colorful little soaps that look like candy in the bathroom. If we‘re not supposed to eat those, then why are they always in a dish?

I’ve been married to the missus for nigh on 26 years and sometimes she still throws me a curve ball.

For instance, we don’t necessarily agree with where rugs should be placed in our house and that’s OK because when it comes to rugs I can take ‘em or leave ‘em.

Except for one place. The main bathroom.

I don’t like cold tile flooring, especially early in the morning, so I must insist that rugs (the small cloth type) be placed at strategic locations in that room. And they usually are and they usually have the traditional skid-proof backing on them that prevents them from sliding when one places one’s foot on them.

However, there was one morning when my wife placed a rug that didn’t have the traditional skid-proof backing on it in the bathroom. I don’t know why she would do this except maybe that she subconsciously WANTS TO KILL ME!

Anyway, I hurried into the bathroom on that particular morning and when my foot hit that rug, I immediately slid across the room like Wayne Gretzky on a power play. Suddenly I was the featured dancer in “Moron On Ice” (or in this case “Moron On Bathroom Tile”). Here I was in my Fruit of the Looms, one foot flailing in the air and the other foot on the rug, which was sliding at breakneck speed across the bathroom floor while at the same time I was using both hands to try to grab something — anything — that might bring this potential disaster to an injury-free conclusion.

The skid ended when the rug and I hit the wall and in the process of trying not to fall and crack my head open on the sink or some other porcelain/metal surface, I ended up with one foot in the trash can and the other foot in the toilet.

Perhaps I can take some consolation in theorizing that if the aliens have been watching me and if they witnessed this pathetic incident, then I more than likely have been taken off their list of potential study subjects.