Hi guys, I had the parents and sister around and did not have time to post this weeks comic, and coincidently The Amazing Dr P has sent a blog to me so here it is!

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This is fucking typical

I canít find my bloody headphones. Iím ready to go out, Iím feeling sharp and now my cool is destroyed for lack of a set of headphones. I knew where they were a mere day ago, but not anymore. That they are elsewhere is not a problem of itself; there are other headphones available. But I do not want other headphones I want my headphones and I want them here, on the chest of drawers, precisely where I put them.

Alas, the person with whom I share this space has deemed, once again, that some item or other must be removed to another, more appropriate and yet indiscernible location. And now, with her absent and (by virtue another irritating habit) uncontactable, how am I to find them?

Why do women do this? I am aware that placing my headphones on the chest of drawers might not be regarded as a first choice location but they will come to no harm there, they have almost no effect on the tidiness of the room (though opinions here differ, vide infra) and they will, no doubt, soon be in use again and so removed. How can whatever new home they have received be significantly better, particularly for an item which, as noted, will move and rest in new places daily, hourly evenó they are nomadic. Plates in the cupboard, yes; socks in the drawer, of course; but headphones, keys, wallets and phones should be where I bloody well left them.

The argument proffered for this behaviour is invariably that of tidiness. Now, I will happily admit that, compared to women, men are (I am) generally less tidy; I could not present the case above and then hope to argue otherwise. So, the reasoning goes, the item has been removed to a more discrete locale in the interests of order and/or beautification. This has the further benefit of allowing the habitual relocator to absolve themselves of any responsibility for the anguish and pain theyíve wrought upon the itemís owner, assuming instead a position of sagely counsellor, gently guiding a child to the agreeable and fitting habits of maturity, acting always for the betterment of their charge. But this, I believe, is a cheap shot – a stock argument that is wheeled out as a matter of course, safe in the assurance of victory. And I do not buy it: this is a foil, a smokescreen. The reason, in my opinion, has far more to do with a desire, conscious or otherwise, to control of both the nature of oneís surroundings and of oneís cohabitants and to thereby develop an enforced dependence. That is why I cannot find my headphones. And that is why I continually scour the rooms of my home accompanied by the patient inquisitions ëWhat are you looking for?í or ëWhy donít you ask me where [desired item] is?í. Well, because why should I have to? Why have you assumed the position of gatekeeper to my things? I do not ask because I do not want to have to ask, because obviously Iím a complete control freak mad on the heady feeling of independence and freedom I get from knowing where my things are. Fuck!

Now, if I carefully secreted all my things away from view, I probably would not have this problem, I agree. But is this not my home too? Must we follow only the lifestyle opinions of a single occupant? Why can I not simply leave something in an innocuous position and expect it to be there when I return? Why must I instead find vexation and woe?

Perhaps instead if I were to demonstrate just how unsettling and unpleasant an event is discovering oneís effects have been relocated, I might exorcise my eager poltergeist, or at least mitigate this incessant desire to be the custodian of miscellany. This tub of cotton buds, for example. They look a little untidy to me, I am sure I can find a more suitable place to house this where it will not disrupt the aesthetic aspect of the room. Perhaps in my drawer, under my socks? Yes, that is clearly a great improvement, there it will be vastly more secure and, moreover, the room immeasurably more tidy. Hah.

But any revelation this might effect will not help me now: my headphones remain at large. I am, defeated, outwitted; beaten in a game I did not know I was playing and utterly powerless to respond. Damn it!

Oh, wait.

Theyíre in my pocket.

Sweet.

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Authored by The Amazing Dr P