by Jeff Marshall

Jeff Marshall, humor

Every once in a while, I become obsessed with the great questions of the universe. I ponder, I pontificate, I mull over, I meditate, and the thoughts overwhelm me like a great tidal wave in a Sharknado movie.

What is the meaning of life?

Why do the dogs poop just to the right of their poop pads rather than directly on their poop pads?

How many times can I use the word poop in one sentence?

How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop?

Well, my friends, this week I have come up with the question to end all questions. I have considered every possibility, I have re-enacted scenarios using sock puppets, I have retraced my footsteps from the last 96 hours over and over and over again. And yet I haven’t come one step closer to finding my answer – I’m stuck at the starting line like a sprinter with a foot cramp.

Why is there a dish towel in my car?

I got into the car earlier this week to go to work, and it caught my attention like a Kardashian at a shoe store. I don’t remember bringing a dish towel into the car. I don’t recall any passenger in possession of a dish towel. I haven’t had a dishwasher in the car for months. I stopped doing the dishes while driving after they passed the no texting laws. So, I ask again…

What is there a dish towel in my car?

I suppose your average every-day normal person not suffering from obvious mental deficiencies would just shrug it off and continue on his merry way. I am not that person. The fact that there is a dish towel in my car and I have no recollection of bringing a dish towel into my car has now caused me hours of grief, gnashing of teeth, and considerations of hypnosis to help me remember when the sam heck I would have brought a dish towel into my car.

I don’t want to be like this – I really don’t. How did I get to be like this? Did great-great-great-great grandpa Marshall end up in a mental institution, only to have his condition skip five generations and end up in my cranium?

Where do I go from here? Do I spend the remainder of my life here on earth entertaining the myriad possibilities? Will I open the car door tomorrow to find a can of Pledge and a dust mop? Perhaps this is the start of a worldwide epidemic and I am the guinea pig.

I suppose I’ll never know the true answer, and I must learn to live with the pain and the devastation. This has made a rough year for me even rougher. All I want is a simple answer – is that really too much to ask? Do I have amnesia? Selective memory? Or is the neighbor lady down the street playing games with me – again?

Thank you for listening. Perhaps getting this anguish off my woefully out of shape chest will be the first step in starting a new life. A life without questions. A life without doubts.

And most certainly a life without dish towels in my car.