I don’t know why age is mistaken for wisdom
Lately, people have mistaken me for someone with wisdom. I don’t know why. I think it’s the beard.
When one’s beard is snowy white, and his hair is well on its way to matching, people tend to think, “Now there’s a guy who’s been around for, like, a million years. He must have learned something.”
The main thing I’ve learned is that “older” isn’t necessarily on speaking terms with “wiser.” I could fill volumes of books about the things that I don’t know.
I don’t know why I keep pressing the snooze button. If decades of evidence suggest that I’m not going to get up at dawn’s first ringing, why not just set the alarm for 20 minutes later? I don’t know.
I don’t now why those birds built their nest beneath my porch awning. It’s interesting to track the progress of eggs to hatchlings to bitty birdies taking flight. But as soon as you step out of the door, you’re in direct line of fire of the splat zone.
Did you know that the human nose can identify 50,000 distinct scents? Why does one of the stinks my nose remembers have to be of deceased chipmunk? And why does Mama Cat find it necessary to teach her brood of kittens all about that delectable dish by dragging chipmunk carcasses into my garage? I don’t know. But I absolutely know when feline school is in session. And I know I’m leaving the garage.
I don’t know what’s the best thing since sliced bread. Television was invented two years after sliced bread, so I once figured that had to be it. Not since Saturday morning cartoons disappeared. I do know that Mr. Potato Head was the first toy advertised on TV. Does that make Mr. Potato Head the best thing since sliced bread? I don’t know.
Did you know that the brain is our fattest organ? Researchers say it’s nearly 60 percent fat. So yes, if you see people outdoors exercising in 90-degree summer heat, it might be because all that working out made them stupid. Who knows?
I don’t know why there are McDonald’s restaurants on every continent except Antarctica. But I can make a reasonable guess why the franchise skipped that chilly spot.
I don’t know why some people suffer from a disorder called boanthropy. It’s the scientific term for people who think they are cows. What would happen if I took them to McDonald’s for lunch (except in Antarctica)? Would they carry on a conversation with their uncle, which is my cheeseburger? I don’t know.
I don’t know why some banks employ wealth psychologists to help big-bucks clients cope with their massive riches. I do know people — perhaps I’m one — who would volunteer to alleviate some of their suffering.
I don’t know why chocolate is the most powerful substance on earth. A study shows that if a bookstore smells like chocolate, shoppers are 3 1/2 times more likely to check out the romance section and nearly six times more likely to buy a love book.
I do know that my nose prefers chocolate 175,000 times more than expired chipmunks in the garage.
I don’t know why every time I eat ice cream, I dribble chocolate sauce in my beard. Do the dark brown stains make me seem like someone who lacks wisdom? Or someone who is using a spoon with a hole in the middle? I don’t know.
Educate Cole at firstname.lastname@example.org, on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or at BurtonWCole on Twitter.