“Q: How many men does it take to find a quart of
milk in the refrigerator?
A: Nobody knows because it hasn’t happened
yet.”
I
am on fire with a new mission and I’m asking for support from other women who live
with a man legally or illegally. Their input will be an invaluable aid in my
quest to find a cure for the previously
unidentified condition now known as MRB, or Male Refrigerator Blindness.
Women
know what I’m talking about, but what they may not know is that Refrigerator Blindness is genetic, passed down
from father to son like body hair and permanent immaturity. Little boy babies
pop out of the womb with the MRB Syndrome but it doesn’t rear its ugly head
until he is approximately three feet tall.
The
symptoms may not be recognizable at first because they can be dormant until the
moment he pulls open the refrigerator door for the first time. At this point,
the condition is automatically activated. I am sorry to report that at this
time all research data on the subject leads me to believe that there is no
known cure.
It’s
like this: Suddenly, those baby blues you fell in love with oh so many years
ago, turn to dull, lifeless orbs from which the male can see nothing inside the
fridge. His lips part slightly and a noticeable trickle of drool makes its way
south as his stupor becomes more pronounced. After no less than five minutes,
while staring, sock-footed or fully shod at the white carton with the letters
M-I-L-K printed in bright red letters on the front, he calls out for
assistance.
“Honey, where’s the milk?”
Some
grown men have been known to stand in front of a refrigerator with the door
open until the bulb blows and leaves him staring into the dark abyss. Others
may stand there until the lettuce wilts.
Those men have a full-blown case of
Refrigerator Blindness and they need help.
Women
of the world, there is promising news on the horizon. Although there is no
known cure, I have devised two
possible “band-aids” to help with the problem. I was driven to do this because
Babe’s disease is so far advanced that it scares me silly.
In
the first experiment, I glued heavy-duty Velcro on the underside of a tape
recorder and then stuck another piece to the inside of the refrigerator. As
soon as Babe opened the fridge door, a pre-recorded tape of my voice
automatically played the following:
“Look
directly in front of you, Babe. Do not blink. Place your right hand straight
out, parallel to your nose, then lower it eight inches. You are now touching
the top of that object known to everyone in the civilized world as a carton of
milk.
“Grasp
it firmly with your hand and then take two steps back. This will allow the
refrigerator door to close all by itself before everything inside dies a slow
death.
“Your
normal vision should slowly return at this time. Look to the left and then walk
over to the first upper cabinet you see, open it and remove a clear cylinder
that normal people pour liquids into that they intend to drink. It is called a
glass. Pour the milk from the carton into the glass, put the glass up to your
lips and sip. If you have any problems with these directions, do not call me. Call Dr. Phil.”
The
second experiment was easier. I glued pictures of big boobs onto the surface of
anything Babe might possibly think of removing from the fridge.
I
considered drawing a detailed map to designate the exact spot where the milk or
other items are normally located. I gave up on that idea, however, when I
realized that MRB can only be cured by direct intervention administered by a
wife, significant live-in OR anatomically correct pictures of big boobies in
living color. Besides, expecting Babe to look at a map was too much like asking
for directions. My man doesn’t do either one.
Time
is a commodity for me and as I inch closer to bankruptcy, I'm hoping to enlist
a few good women to help me spread the MRB word. I’ll probably never win the
Nobel Prize for curing the syndrome, but maybe someday I’ll receive a
refrigerator-shaped plaque given by grateful women who were able to help their
men to become MRB survivors.
Check it out at: www.mrbandaids.com
