That's Funny. How'd That Get There?

The slob gene is in my blood. And yes, that is scientific jargon. In this case, it's the slob type-c gene. Not to be confused with type-a, which typically categorizes your slob in the lazy, unclean, and unhealthy sense. No, type-c is reserved for more of the 'What the?...How'd that spot get there,' type.

For years I watched my dad suffer ad-nauseum at the dinner table, or while my mother would find stains on his clothes in the laundry. At first, I would kind of smirk, but then I began to restrain myself from commenting. The kind of restraint that keeps sons from poking fun of their father's male pattern baldness. You know. Sure, they say male pattern baldness comes from your grandpa on your mother's side, but you're never really quite sure, so you just don't ridicule in order not to set off the balding gods. Similarly, I bit my tongue during any number of my father's slob gaffes.

Through college and the early part of my marriage, I like to think I was relatively clean (although my wife, I'm sure would not back me up). Then came life in Japan. Like a runaway train, my clothes over the past month or two have been wrought with mass chaos. Day after day, I would come home, start changing, and suddenly...'what the?...huh...that's weird. Did I walk around with that on my shirt all day?'

I spent the first few episodes depressed. Hopelessly, I tried to find a reason to avoid coming to terms with the stark reality that I did indeed inherit slob type-c. "Maybe I just need to be more careful with the chopsticks at lunch...It's those damn trays in the cafeteria. You know they are warped. Who wouldn't spill something every now and then dealing with those trays?... The line at lunch is pretty crowded..."

My wife, for her part, has remained relatively silent. As if she's known for a long time now, she has spared my feelings and allowed me to come to terms with this on my own. You see, due to our circumstances here in Japan, she has had to take on more of the domestic chores. And my increasing volume of stained laundry certainly hasn't helped. But, to her credit, she never really says anything. And when she finally reminded me that maybe I did have a problem and should try to be more careful, it came in the most subtle way - a Tide stain pen. I found it on my bag before going to work last week. And to ease the blow, the entire bag of Valentine candy hearts from my in-laws. Hey, at least those candy hearts won't stain!