More can't do's

This morning Karen and I were attempting to fold laundry.  I say attempting because apparently the way I was taught was incorrect.  The way Karen was taught appears to me to have Zen-like mystic qualities that I am constitutionally incapable of mastering. Karen says it's a man-trick.  That I repeatedly try to fold the laundry the way she prefers and fail matters not.  I am, according to my love, trying to get out of it.

That led me to wonder what other things I'm incapable of doing.  Not things I can't do or won't do, but things that I would have no truck trying but find myself after repeated attempts unable to do.  I'm sure the list is longer than this, but here's a start:

Fold laundry:   No matter how my redheaded goddess claims it's a man-excuse, I fail to follow all the byzantine methods of folding laundry.  I don't fold it for presentation; I fold it so it fits in a drawer with no wrinkles.  But apparently there are as many ways to fold laundry as there are ways to call things on a boat by nautical terms unfamiliar to landlubbers.  Why towels and washclothes, for example, have to be folded in a particular way mystifies me.  Who knew there was more than one way to fold socks?  And the worst of all has to be watching me fold T-shirts.

Cook eggs:  I've given some thought to taking cooking classes and what not, not that I'd be any good as a chef, but the smell of eggs immediately disqualifies me.  Add to that the unofficial allergy I ironically have to scallops (both times I've eaten them things came out of different parts of my body at the same time) and I wouldn't make it past the first episode of Top Chef.

Play cards:  Part of this is my fault.  I find cards to be somewhat boring, so I don't play them that often.  But were I to try, I can't figure out how to strategize when luck has so much to do with setting the play.  Unlike chess, where the only luck involved is who moves first, the cards dealt are purely by chance, unless there's a stacked deck.  I'm not good with advanced math, so trying to figure out the probability that such and such card will be available on my next draw is beyond my abilities.  That, in turn, renders me incapable of knowing whether to go for three of a kind instead of a straight.

Read music:  I love music.  I can hold a note.  I can't for the life of me read music.  At best I know when the melody is going up or going down.  Sometimes I can even get the rhythm.  It amazes me how people are not only able to read this stuff but create it in the first place.  I sit in awe of such talent.  I'll never join their club.

Golf:  I'm marginally athletic, or used to be.  I mastered throwing a baseball, making it move in different directions, throwing it to specific spots.  I learned how to hit a round baseball with a round bat when the former was thrown at me from sixty feet, six inches at roughly eighty miles an hour.  I learned how to dribble a basketball with my left hand, in fact becoming more proficient with my left hand than my stronger right hand when dribbling.  But I cannot hit a golf ball sitting on the ground in front of me correctly.  I get lucky from time to time, but that's it.

Socialize:  One would think this would come naturally to a human, but that might be part of the problem.  Countless people have criticized my sociability quotient.  I'm awkward, insufferably boring, always ready to say the wrong thing at the absolutely worst time.  My sense of humor is so abstruse, or so I'm told, that I come off as aloof or condescending.  Suffice it to say I'm no threat to win a Man of the Year award.  Sheldon Cooper has more social skills than I do, and he's horrible.  He even uses the word coitus in polite conversation.

Ice skate:  Considering the tendons and ligaments in my ankles have the consistency of shredded wheat thanks to years of spraining them, any thought of skating is a non-starter.  As with music this is a shame, because I love to watch hockey. But unlike music, where I can at least hold a note, I can't even stand up on skates without the assistance of a walker.

Visual artwork:  I have to split hairs here.  I'm not too bad as a photographer, although I'm a complete duffer when it comes to manipulating F-stops and what have you.  I'm referring here to anything involving a pen, pencil or a brush.  Unless someone sees my inner Jackson Pollock, I'm a bust even when it comes to drawing stick figures.

Selling:  Unless I believe in a particular product, I can't sell anything.  I couldn't sell ice to an Arab.  I just don't have the persuasive power to get someone to buy something he or she doesn't want.

Acting:  Again, the art of persuasion here is lost on me.  I'd crack up if a scene called for me to act melodramatically.  The irony is that I have absolutely no problem standing up in front of a crowd and speaking.  But ask me to perform anything?  Not a chance.

Repair mechanical devices:  You'd waste less breath asking me to part the Red Sea.  Just trust me on this one.  Or ask Karen.

Diplomacy:  I had to look up how to spell that word.  I see too much black and white and not enough grey.  Heck, I even argue that the proper spelling of grey is not gray, but grey.

Pen-twirling:  I'm not sure what you call this, but I can't do it.  In school, kids that were either exceptionally gifted in math or science or went to very exclusive boarding schools all seemed to be able to take a pen or pencil, balance it briefly on the sides of their thumbs and forefingers and then twirl it around on top of those two digits without it flying off.  I've tried this.  I can't do it.

Spinning a basketball on my finger:  Somewhere Abe Saperstein is laughing at me.  No matter how good I may have been at basketball, I couldn't do this.

Algebra:  I'm not sure whether those who are good at this do algebra or whether there's a proper verb for what they do, but whatever it is, I don't do it.  I remember always being confused why x had to be such-and-such and constantly asking why, only to be told to just accept it.  Well, that didn't wash with me.  As a result, I never got algebra.  Someday I'll go into the whole Early-Eardley concidence, which is only sure to make Karen's eyes roll out of her head.

Whistle between my fingers:  I'm a very good whistler, in fact, but I cannot whistle by putting any fingers in my mouth.  Or a blade of grass.

There will be regular updates on this once my memory returns or more things are added to the list.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles