If winter comes, can brain farts be far behind?

A few weeks ago, when Mother Nature presented a brief preview of winter, I decided that I needed to put on my earmuffs before going to the store.

So I looked in one of the pockets of my winter coat.

Nothing.

Then I looked in the other pocket.

Nothing again.

I had obviously put the earmuffs somewhere else. There’s a good chance that months ago I found what I thought was a great place to put them, secure in the misplaced confidence that when the time came, I would remember exactly where I left them.

But I fooled myself, and not for the first time.

And because I was in a hurry, I had to brave the elements without earmuffs.

Not long after this, the weather improved.

I still hadn’t found the earmuffs, but I knew a foolproof way to find them:

Order some more earmuffs.

So I went to Amazon and bought a couple of pairs. They came a couple of days later, and they fit well.

I still haven’t found the lost earmuffs, but I know they’ll turn up at some point now that I’ve bought more earmuffs. And I’m sure that if Sir Isaac Newton had had more time, he would have turned this idea into his fourth law of motion. (Or maybe he did have the time, but that inertia thing got to him.)

Before the new earmuffs arrived, I received an email from the manufacturer.

The message was from someone named “Sawyer.” Sawyer was writing to inform me that the earmuffs had been shipped and would reach me “very soon.”

That’s nice.

But Sawyer, bless his or her heart, couldn’t let well enough alone.

“Even though we’ve never met, I know you have impeccable taste.”

Why, Sawyer! I didn’t know you cared. But you obviously haven’t seen my winter coat. Or the rest of my wardrobe. You’re taking a huge leap of faith — huge enough to potentially teach you a particularly unpleasant lesson regarding that gravity thingy that Sir Isaac also used to talk about. (Why do you think Wile E. Coyote pays so much for health insurance?)

But that’s ultimately your problem. I can do only so much.

In the last paragraph of your message, you say that in buying the earmuffs, I “have selected a one of a kind piece that combines design and function.” No, Sawyer, I have merely bought a pair of earmuffs. And, God willing, someday you might learn about the design and function of hyphens, especially when applied to compound adjectives like “one-of-a-kind.”

But it’s the last sentence that chills me, even with my new earmuffs on:

“Thank you for choosing us and we hope to style you again soon.”

Now your company wants to “style” me?

I don’t know what it means to be “styled,” but given the general tenor of this message, I don’t even want to think about knowing what it means.

But I am glad that I recently bought a new storm door for my front porch and that it has a lock.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better check the back-porch door.