Do You Remember? ... Well Your Wife Does!

If you know me even slightly, either from real life or from the internet, you probably know that I’m an insomniac. Through social networking I’ve discovered a lot of fellow zombies, and every single one of them is a woman. Why is this? Maybe there’s a uterine-based explanation. Maybe the cuter you are the less sleep you need. ;-) But it’s more likely due to our inability to shut the brain down because there’s just too damned much whirling around up there. Now this is not a slight on men. It’s just a fact that we have more going on upstairs. Guys, it doesn’t matter if you’re a neurosurgeon, nuclear physicist or fry cook. Your brain holds less information than your wife’s.

I doubt any man reading this blog knows his wife’s social security number. But you bet your ass she knows yours. And your children’s. All your children’s shoe and clothing sizes, their most recent illnesses and vaccinations, and the numbers for all the family doctors. Not only the names of your coworkers and friends, but your children’s teachers, their friends, their friends’ parents names and phone numbers. When every project at school is due, and the grade the last project got. Every birthday, anniversary, phone number and address for every member of both sides of the family. When the dog needs to get its shots. Exactly how many pounds of hamburger are in the freezer. What comes out of the checking account automatically every month. Not only your checking account number, but the routing number and the three-digit security codes on the backs of all your credit cards. The balances of all the credit cards, and how far behind you are on the payments. The PIN numbers for your debit and credit cards, and the passwords for your email/Facebook/Twitter/Ebay/Paypal accounts. The names of your neighbors and some of their kids. When the next class party is and who’s supposed to bring what. Your shoe/inseam/neck sizes and your favorite tie. Who will eat what, who hates what and who’s allergic to what. When each car is due for inspection. When she’s supposed to get her period, and whether she should panic this month if it’s late.

This is the coding that swirls about in our insomniac brains as we lay there at night. While Albert was blissfully dreaming of splitting atoms and taking showers with Marie Curie, Mrs. Einstein was laying there sorting the pantry in her head and trying not to forget Albert's suit at the cleaners. Personally, I don’t think I can cram much more data up there. Every time I have to memorize a new phone number I misplace a pair of reading glasses. This is not a coincidence. I’ve reached the saturation level. If something goes in, something else has to come out. This is why I now call both my sons “Fred” and call every kid at school who yells “Hey Mrs. Stanley!” simply “Kiddo.” My husband is “Dear.” Not as a term of affection, but because his first name has been replaced by our license plate number. However, his Social Security number is 565-70-…….

And no, this isn't "Latch Key Kid" playing, it's Jack Johnson. HA! (But don't forget to listen for him at the end of Scrubs Tuesday night at 9 on ABC. It's okay if you do,guys. You're wife will remember.)