A tornado has hit my house. As I walk in the door, I see half-empty water glasses, a few plates, and two socks lying in the middle of the dining room floor.
I must trace the path of the tornado. I sweep the socks into my hand in a practiced motion, while skillfully grabbing two of the three water glasses on the table.
It's not that it is really that messy - I'm just an incredible neat freak.
As I proceed past the stockpiles of magazines and a crumpled hooded sweatshirt on the floor - it's getting colder out - I reach the living room and approach my target.
"Hello!" My boyfriend lies on the couch - sock-free - and holds the remote control. He looks genuinely happy to see me, until he sees the socks in my hand. His face falls.
I swear, he does not see them until I pick them up.
This is a symptom of a disorder occurring among some males of any age. It is aptly named "MIBWDSAOTF."
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the disorder, its scientific name is "Male-Induced Blindness When Dirty Socks Are On The Floor." I have discussed the disorder with my boyfriend and have attempted treatment.
The socks were not there before, he claims.
After extensive research, I have determined that neither my female housemate nor I wear a man's size 11 athletic sock.
Treatment is nearly impossible when the problem cannot be seen. Literally. Although the socks are not smelly or particularly dirty, it cannot be determined why they become invisible to the person who is clearly taking them off and placing them on the floor.
I don't even know if I would like to treat this case. Although annoying, and sometimes disturbing to my neat predisposition, I find the invisible sock phenomenon quite endearing.
Well, not quite. It is a little strange.
I will sit in my garden of socks, counting my blessings that I no longer live with my three brothers, who barely grasp the meaning of the word "dish soap."
As a wee lass, I would watch my brothers play video games for hours and watch piles of clothing, empty cups and dirty dishes form around them until they lost interest in whatever video game they had been playing. They would then leave the room and quite interestingly not realize the three distinct piles that they had left.
I am not quite finished with my research, I admit, but I have had some interesting breakthroughs.
After consulting with several experts - my mom and several of my female friends - I have discovered that this is not uncommon, nor is the invisibility of whatever item is in question.
I cannot speak for all of us, but I know that I have a few little idiosyncrasies that make me who I am. I find that socks, or water glasses, or items of clothing, are small pieces of personality lying about the home.
I have always preferred the company of the unassuming male who suffers from this disorder. It is a sweet innocence that leaves tiny reminders of the dialogue between the sock- leaver and me. The socks will be discarded, and I will menacingly stand over the wearer until the never-ending cycle is finally understood.
I will only pick up the socks until I am asked to.
The water glasses, however, are quite another issue. I have also found that they are continuously left out if they are half full, or just a sip is left. They are then left and another glass is filled. This routine is repeated until the collection grows.
This drives me crazy.
The unfortunate circumstance of a man who does leave his socks on the floor is that impressionable minds follow example.
She has begun leaving pens, magic markers, money and big balls of dust for me to find.
My cat, Olive, has taken up the task of pulling dust from crevices, yanking pens from coffee tables and textbooks as of late.
Her mischievousness has caused even more trouble for the past few days.
Yesterday, I observed her playing with an even bigger toy - a gray athletic sock. I can't really blame her. It was left in the middle of the dining room.
Photo: Meredith Forrest Kulwicki
