I don’t always notice things, I admit. Or, rather, I may not always notice things that others notice, such as, perhaps, my wife.
There is the chance that I keep track of some things which she does not, for instance, the San Francisco Giants’ team slugging percentage — but that is not my point here. My point is that, sometimes, we men do not notice what our girlfriends and wives do. What’s worse, we don’t notice the things they want us to notice. Oh, much worse.
Which is why I was so grateful to D, recently, and her story about her husband, R.
I hadn’t seen D for a bit, although she points out that the change in her appearance was apparent when we ran into each other on the stairs recently. I claim preoccupation, in self-defense.
It was quitting time, I happened to run into a coworker as we went out our office doors in the old neoclassical side of our building complex. We were walking down the terra cotta steps, chatting, when D came running back up. As she hurried by, I wisecracked something lame like, “you’re going the wrong way!” and she laughed and called “I forgot something!” and was gone.
I can hardly be blamed for not noticing her new appearance there, can I? I mean, it was fast. And I have male pattern blindness, which is where we guys only notice things in our own cognitive patterns.
This week I was assigned to work on an assignment with D, and complimented her on her new look.
“Would you believe R didn’t even notice?” She told me she had gone home after the change and talked to him and even stopped to look him right in the face as she spoke to him, and for about an hour and a half he didn’t even notice.
On behalf of men everywhere, we who suffer from male pattern blindness, I thank R for this. Remember, gents, you are not alone.
D finally got in his face again and said “R! Do you notice anything different?”
“Oh,” he said. “You have new glasses.”
The new ones are gray or maybe silver — unless they are a color of green which, being colorblind to some greens, I do not see. They look very sharp. I told her so, which is what precipitated my hearing this whole story, which I was glad to hear and happier to relate.
Her old glasses were … a darker color. I think. Okay, okay; I don’t remember.
LOL! With a husband and two sons, I’ve been living with this disease for many years.
A few weeks ago my youngest son asked me if I had any plans to color my hair since it’s mostly gray, white, and silver these days. I said no, but then decided that if HE noticed all the gray perhaps I should color it. So I did. Nobody noticed. Not my youngest son, not my husband.
Ah well. This just proves that I don’t need to waste the time and money on coloring my hair.
There are some advantages to Male Pattern Blindness. After all this time, my husband still looks at me as if I’m the young woman he married. Or is that part of the “love is blind” thing?
Robin, your comment reflects a self-assurance that must stand you in very good stead.
Did many of your women friends notice? Or other people?
I suffer from this affliction. Perhaps we could start a support group?
My women friends did notice. If their husbands noticed, nobody spoke up. But then, it’s not something other husbands usually comment on.
Count me in as being the partner of someone inflicted. I’ve gotten used to it, and now if I want him to notice, I just point it out to him.
Stevo, re the support group, if it involves beer and televised sports, I can be persuaded.
Robin, see, I think women pretty much “speak the language.” They’re just attune to these things in others. I read something recently about how our cats and dogs perceive us. They do not recognize us so much by our faces (as we do) but are attune to our size, shape, and characteristic movements. (Old and slow, hunched or erect, methodical gestures or herky-jerky, etc.) They also do not even see color, so will never notice what someone has done to her hair.
What I’m saying is, some of us men are more like cats and dogs than we are like women.
yB: this is the best approach. Mrs. Ombud now employs it, too. Because I’m perhaps thinking about Justin Morneau’s slugging percentage, whether the California Supreme Court’s gay marriage decision is going to hurt Obama in November, if the tomatoes will handle our heat wave, or what I’m having for lunch today. If she wants me to consider what she’s wearing, she has to pretty much snap her fingers in my face.
poke
poke
poke
Hey, you still alive?
I hope he is …
Thank you both; my reply to Kurt explains in small part what’s been going on for me. I seem to have entered some sort of blogging hibernation.
But it wasn’t as if I actively sought out a burrow, having fattened on berries and salmon beforehand, then entered and curled into a circle and fell asleep.
No, blogwise, it’s more as if I were tapping along one day and then … the next … I entered some sort of hibernatory trance … as if I were in the Oliver Sacks book (or Robin Williams movie) Awakenings.
That part of me is suspended for a moment.
I even have jotted notes on the backs of envelopes and whatnot. But what with the 8 to 5, which is 5:30 am to 6 pm for me, I just haven’t gotten there lately.
Well, I’m glad to see you are still alive and well. And while I miss reading your posts, it’s nice to see your footprints again in another people’s blogs.
Take care.