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I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma,
a harmless enigma that is made terrible
by our own mad attempt to interpret it
as though it had an underlying truth.
- Umberto Eco
In a never ending quest to force independence on the small people who share my house, I’ve recently been encouraging them to undress themselves, put their (wet! only wet!) diapers in the trash, drop their laundry into the washer and wiggle into their own clothes.
Because I’m simply too busy to hunt down, dress and redress children the 478 times a day required by their unabashed love of both dress up and nudity.
We performed this routine the other day before bedtime. I noticed nothing out of the ordinary as I placed diapers on the little ones but for a touch of extra goofiness on the part of my middle child. I was tired, she was being weird, it was past bedtime — I didn’t investigate further.
Kids in bed, I fell on the couch and worked without ceasing until my own bedtime.
Imagine my surprise then the next morning when upon opening the refrigerator door to fetch milk I found a wee pair of pink panties tucked halfway into the crisper bin. I stared at them without comprehension. In the time it took for it to register in my brain that YES those were pink panties (and not just a figment of an overworked imagination), it ran through my head to think that I must have — I must have! –kicked them into the fridge as I opened the door.
Yes, that was it. They’d been dropped on the floor just moments before, and my agile toes had inadvertently flung them into the fridge — nay into the crisper bin! — as I opened the door. That had to be it. Because no one would purposefully have put her panties into the refrigerator.
By the time these thoughts finished percolating through my head, I’d bent down. I’d laid hands upon the offending pair of drawers. And…they were cold. The panties were cold.
I’d had panties in my fridge overnight, and when I involuntarily asked (though I knew it was mad to ask) “Why are there panties in the refrigerator?” my question was met with rounds of giggles from behind me. There’d been a plot, you see. A plot to store panties in the refrigerator.
Their plot had succeeded. The mother was flummoxed. And all was right in their little world.



