So much I don’t know, so much you should just let go

This column was originally published March 8, 2003:

It is time once again, I’m afraid, for one of the periodic reviews of things I don’t know.

It is necessary from time to time to purge myself of these things. Their weight is burdensome. They are grievous to me. I should perhaps give up not knowing things for Lent, but I’m afraid that is beyond my strength.

I don’t know why your fingernails grow faster than your toenails. Nor do I know why the nails on your thumbs or your big toes grow faster than their neighbors. I think it has something to do with usage and blood flow, but I don’t know.

I don’t know how they determine how many radishes to bundle in a bundle of radish. If the produce guy didn’t know, I don’t know, either. I guess they figure there are only so many radishes a person could have use of at any given time. I don’t know.

Why does a red-crested kinglet make persistent efforts to try to get into your house, persistent to the point that even your cats are bored with it? Beats me.

I don’t know why you have suddenly developed a taste for spicy, salty, hard foods. Not a clue.

I still don’t know why some dogs seem to react to images on television and some dogs don’t. I think I told you that before, but I don’t know that. I actually tried to find the answer to this and couldn’t. Maybe some dogs are just smarter than other dogs and have better things to do than watch television.

The list just goes on and on. I don’t know what happened to the rocks in your front yard. I guess over time they just get scattered by rain or foot traffic or whatever. I don’t know why the replacement rocks cost so much, and, no, I don’t want to come over and help you spread them around.

I don’t know why bakeries twist those little twist-ties on bread in one direction as opposed to another. They just do. You really shouldn’t let things like this bother you so. It can’t be good for you, but I don’t know that for sure.