There’s an old saying: “Denial’s not just a river in Egypt.” This afternoon, I’m pretty sure I witnessed the principle in action.
I won’t say where exactly, but there’s a family in our neighborhood with a fifteen-year-old daughter, whom I’ll call “Katrina.” Through conversations with her mother, whom I’ll refer to as “Ginger,” I’ve learned two important details: 1) on an almost daily basis, the girl absentmindedly leaves behind needed items; and 2) her mother always saves the day, dropping whatever she’s doing to retrieve those objects for her scatterbrained child. This same scenario has repeated itself all the years I’ve known the family.
Personally, I think Katrina’s forgetfulness stems from her less than sterling intellect. To paraphrase another old adage: “She’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.” I’d ordinarily keep that opinion to myself, but it bears on today’s events.
While walking Prometheus this afternoon, I ran into Ginger as she prepared once again to save her daughter’s bacon. I asked what the forsaken object de jure was, and she replied: “You’ll never believe what that girl of mine forgot today: her underwear!”
I thought this latest orphaned item unusual enough to warrant further inquiry, so I asked Ginger for the particulars. As she explained, her daughter had phoned from school claiming she’d neglected to wear panties this morning. Katrina said she needs underwear for cheerleading practice this afternoon and wants her mother to deliver a pair, posthaste.
I’m fairly absentminded myself, but I’ve never forgotten to don briefs while dressing in the morning. Nor do I believe anyone else could do so, even a certain “dumb as a stone” teenage girl. In addition, until this afternoon, I would’ve scoffed at the idea of a parent accepting her kid’s story of “forgotten” panties. Denial’s a powerful tool, however.
Last weekend, Prometheus and I happened upon Katrina and her boyfriend as they walked through a deserted stretch of road in our subdivision. They had their arms wrapped around each other when we spotted them. More precisely, while Katrina’s arm draped across her boyfriend’s back, his arm hovered over her backside caressing one butt-cheek in a manner which bespoke long familiarity. Knowing Katrina, I’m willing to concede that the absentminded girl inadvertently left her panties somewhere … just not in the dresser drawer where her in-denial mother “found” them.