Annie Dear is off today. This is a favorite previous column.

I saw an interesting bit on Facebook the other day, with the presenter explaining the difference between men’s and women’s brains, and while very tongue-in-cheek, it really did make a lot of sense.

The presenter likened a woman’s brain to electricity zapping in every direction – a little like the freeway system in Los Angeles. You see, we girls have gray matter which is programed to multi-task, and so we can think of 43 things at once, slot everything into a time frame and get it all done without breaking a sweat. Oh sorry, that probably wasn’t the correct term. I mean breaking a glow.

You boys on the other hand, have boxes for brains – no insult intended – and you therefore compartmentalize your thoughts. You have a box for work, a box for home, one for fishing, one for sports, and one for drinking with your mates. Oh you can think of a couple of things at once, but generally speaking, one box does not communicate with another box with any reliability or regularity, and they would quite frankly all like to be left alone.

Our presenter then went on to his big reveal. A man’s brain also contains a “nothing box.” This allows a man to sit quite still, and to think and to do, as the box’s name would suggest, absolutely nothing. This drives women up the wall, because in the busyness that is their brains, there is no room for nothing. This nothingness can only be achieved with enormous effort while meditating at a yoga class – and if you’ve ever tried meditating you will know what I mean ladies. It’s really, really hard to stop thinking, and while you may achieve it at first, your brain ultimately bashes down your mental door, yelling such things as “what were you thinking, woman? This is all very nice but there are things to do, places to go and people to see. Chop, chop!”

I have my suspicions that Sir’s “nothing box” is proportionately larger than the others. I think his brain knocks on one of the other boxes, and just as the lid is lifted, it scuttles off to the nothing box because quite frankly this is just so much easier.

As a case in point, rushing to get out the door to work the other morning, I had taken the last roll of T.P. from the little cupboard on the floor next to the toot. On the premise of “do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” I put an unopened pack of nine rolls on top of said cupboard, thinking that Sir would naturally open it up and put the rolls therein.

“You frightened the life out of me this morning” was the cry that greeted me that evening. “I walked in and thought there was a guy standing there.” So shaken up was he, he moved the offending package and put it on the floor just outside the bathroom door, where it has sat, quite smugly I think, ever since.

It, along with socks lost in the dryer, I fear, has made its way into the Box of Nothing.

-- Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at