How to tell you are marrying a man

My honey, the love of my life, the reason I rush home, did the very thing that confirmed his manhood.

Before your mind goes to something dirty, let me elaborate.

We were folding clothes in the bedroom, since that is the surest way they will end up in the closet. As Laundry Czar, it is my job to do all things clothing related, but Russ usually helps me out, which is very nice of him, since I hate the shlepping of clothes very much. Anyway, we are chatting, when he says, "honey, can I make a request?" (read: He has something he is afraid to ask of me, yet whatever it is that I have been doing has been bothering him so much that he can no longer go on being unheard.) He says, in a voice genteel, "Can you put all of my shirts in one place and not put my white t-shirts with my underwear drawer?"

I, naturally, acquiesce, as it makes no nevermind to me whether they end up on one of Jupiter's moons so long as he is happy. Yet, curiosity piqued, I ask, "Why?"

He says, "I can't find my socks with the shirts in that drawer."

I swallow for a moment, and then burst out laughing, literally rolling on the folded clothes.

Now I have HIM puzzled. Why is this so damn funny?

I say, "You really are, really and truly, a man. Only a man would be puzzled by something as complex as things being behind or under things. Tell me this, if you can't see the mustard in the refrigerator, do you assume it has gone missing? Will the chest of drawers win the staring contest if you have to be the person to move your shirts to find your socks?"

He grimaces, since I am cackling at his expense, but he loves to hear me laugh...rock and a hard place.

And I say to you, if you have a being at your house who will not be outdone by containers using concepts like object permanence, you my pet, are living with a man. Rejoice! I know of no thing better.