Procatalepsis (pro-cat-a-lep’-sis): Refuting anticipated objections.
I’m a what? Don’t say it. They call me “Pin” because I’m as neat as a pin. They call you “Marks” because of the skid marks on your underpants. But that’s beside the point. The point is: I’m not a slob.
Even thought you can’t properly wipe your ass, your standards for neatness are from the Moon, where everything stays the same and nothing moves. Your concept of neatness follows the rationale of a display—everything posed outside of time, just right: Do not touch!
We live in a world of change. We change our clothes. We hurry. Imperfection and malleable dreams make happiness possible—but happiness too is touched by time’s hand.
I get up. I have breakfast. I shower. I brush my teeth. I put my toothbrush in a convenient place on the sink. You tell me it doesn’t go there. It doesn’t belong there. It belongs out of sight in the medicine cabinet. You call me the “S” word, pick up my toothbrush and put it “where it belongs.” Sacrificing convenience for the medicine cabinet does not make it for me. We should make “convenience” the rationale of where things go. I admit they have to go somewhere, but “out of sight” is not always the right place.
Now you know where I’m coming from. If your anal soul urges you to “put things away,” go ahead. Don’t expect me to do the same. Look! I dropped my underpants on the floor. Do you want me to put them in the hamper all the way down the hall in the bathroom, or jump into bed together for some fun RIGHT NOW?
POSTSCRIPT
She made me crazy, but she reformed me. I’m so neat. I even clip my nails once a week and made myself a cubby and bought a dresser. She’s worth it. The one thing I don’t like is the spanking I get when my neatness score drops on the tote board in the living room. The spanking is brief and painless, so it’s no big deal. Also, I have to admit I never was as neat as a pin. I was called “Pin” because of my obsession with bowling.
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