Is It Just Me?

Leander, TX

September 12, 2026

11:42 pm

Dear Leah, Jack & Adam-

I think about a lot of things.

Some important.

Some not so important.

And some that probably shouldn’t occupy any space in the brain of a 72-year-old man.

But they do.

So, rather than continue pondering these things by myself, I thought I’d share a few of them and see if anyone else wonders about this stuff.

Or if it’s just me.

Let’s start with God.

I believe God is the Creator of all things.

I was also taught that we were created in His image.

Which brings me to a question I’ve spent far too much time thinking about:

Why do we have to wipe?

Seriously.

To my knowledge, humans are the only creatures that finish doing their business and then reach for a manufactured paper product to complete the job.

Dogs don’t.

Horses don’t.

Birds certainly don’t.

Some animals groom themselves afterward, which presents an entirely different set of issues I’d prefer not to think about.

But humans?

We require toilet paper.

And apparently a lot of it.

I realize that “created in His image” doesn’t necessarily mean God has the same anatomy we do. There are perfectly good theological explanations for what that phrase means.

I’m not sure what that all means.

However…

Of all the magnificent engineering involved in creating the human body, couldn’t there have been a cleaner exit strategy?

I don’t know.

But I think about it. Way too much…

A brief public-service announcement:

If you don’t own a bidet, get one.

I’m serious.

One of those inexpensive toilet-seat attachments will make you wonder why Americans have spent their entire lives smearing things around with dry paper when much of the rest of the world discovered water.

Once you have one, using a toilet without a bidet feels strangely primitive.

You may be thinking, Mark, I really didn’t need this information.

That’s fine.

Buy one anyway.

You – and your bottom – will want to thank me later.

The Parking Lot Mystery

Here’s another one.

I can park my car in a lot with 500 other cars.

I go into the store for an hour.

I come back.

What are the odds that the person parked directly beside me will decide to leave at exactly the same moment I do?

Apparently, about 93%.

There can be hundreds of empty cars sitting quietly around us, but the person parked next to me suddenly appears with a shopping cart containing twelve bags and begins loading them into the back seat just as I’m trying to open my door.

Or I’m backing out and the car directly behind me begins backing out at exactly the same time.

How?

We arrived at different times.

Went to different stores.

Bought different things.

Spent different amounts of time shopping.

Yet somehow the universe brings us together for this one beautiful moment.

Maybe God is involved in this, too.

He has a sense of humor.

Footnote:  I refuse to believe God’s sense of humor extends to people who leave their shopping carts wherever they darn well please.

Men and Tank Tops

Why do men wear tank tops?

I’m not saying all men look bad in tank tops.

Maybe 1% look terrific.

Unfortunately, those don’t seem to be the 1% wearing them.

Gentlemen, we own mirrors.

Use them.

I’m 72 years old. Gravity and I have become well acquainted.

My physique is similar to the Pillsbury Doughboy.

I’m not criticizing anyone for getting older, gaining some weight, losing muscle or having body parts migrate to locations they didn’t occupy 30 years ago.

I’m simply suggesting that perhaps we don’t need to display all of it.

Sweaty armpits.

Armpit hair.

Fat rolls.

Side boob.

And frequently enough body hair to suggest that somewhere in the family tree there may have been a golden retriever.

Yet some guy looks in the mirror, surveys all of this, pulls on a tank top and apparently thinks:

“Dang. I look good.”

No.

You don’t.

Neither would I.

That’s why I wear shirts with sleeves.

Another Footnote: I have a wife…3 daughters…a granddaughter, a sister, and dozens of other female family and friends.

Ladies – wear what you want. No sleeves? Terrific.

I’m not an idiot.

Medical Bills

Here’s something considerably less amusing that I also don’t understand.

Medical billing.

You receive a statement:

Amount billed: $47,382.

Your insurance company responds:

No.

Then something called a “contractual adjustment” appears for $39,582.

Insurance pays another $6,000.

You owe $1,800.

And everybody acts as though this is a completely normal financial transaction.

What happened to the other $39,582?

Was the procedure worth $47,382 or wasn’t it?

If the hospital is perfectly willing to accept a fraction of that amount, why was $47,382 ever the price?

Imagine this anywhere else.

I go to a restaurant.

“Your dinner tonight comes to $486.”

“Wow. I’m with Blue Cross.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so? That’ll be 50 bucks.”

Could somebody just tell me what the darn procedure costs?

Apparently not.

While We’re Discussing Prices…

Who pays full retail for clothes?

When I played a lot of golf, I bought first-class, name-brand golf clothes at Stein Mart for around ten bucks.

Admittedly, Stein Mart eventually went bankrupt.

So perhaps I shouldn’t be presenting myself as an authority on sustainable retail economics.

But there continue to be plenty of places where you can buy excellent clothes for a fraction of the supposed retail price.

The last suit I bought retailed for $795.

I paid $189.

I was delighted.

But afterward I wondered:

Did I buy a $795 suit for $189?

Or did I buy a $189 suit that somebody once put a $795 tag on?

Those are two very different things.

Retail price: $795.

Sale price: $399.

Special price: $249.

Additional 20% off today.

At some point, “price” becomes more of a suggestion than a number.

Which brings me back to medical billing.

Maybe hospitals just need a clearance rack.

Churches

Here’s one that’s a little more serious.

Why don’t more churches publish detailed financial statements?

I’ve been wrestling with this one lately.

Churches ask us to give.

Many teach that we should tithe—10% of our income.

I grew up believing that money belonged to God and should go to the church.

Okay.

But if I’m giving a meaningful portion of my income to an organization, why shouldn’t I know exactly how it’s being used?

Not just:

Ministry — 62%

What’s in the 62%?

How much came in?

How much went out?

What did we pay the senior leadership?

How much went to people who genuinely needed help?

How much went to buildings?

How much debt do we have?

How much cash do we have?

Businesses routinely provide this kind of information to investors.

Many charities provide it to donors.

Why shouldn’t churches be among the most financially transparent organizations in the world?

If I’m expected to be a good steward of what God has given me, shouldn’t I care whether the people I give it to are good stewards, too?

I don’t think asking questions demonstrates a lack of faith.

I think it demonstrates responsibility.

I have more thoughts about all this…but I’ll save it for a future Random Thought post.

Mattresses

And now we arrive at something I’m convinced nobody understands.

Mattresses.

Is there a more confusing product on Earth?

You find a mattress you like.

It’s a Sealy Posturepedic Supreme Cloud Something-or-Other Luxury Firm Euro Pillowtop.

Retail price:

$4,799.

But it’s on sale for $2,899.

Unless it’s Presidents Day.

Then it’s $2,199.

But this weekend there’s a special event, so it’s $1,699.

Plus a free adjustable base.

And two pillows.

And delivery.

You think you’ve found a great deal, so you go online to compare prices.

You can’t.

The mattress at the other store is called the Sealy Posturepedic Supreme Cloud Something-or-Other Premier Luxury Firm Euro Pillowtop.

“Is that the same mattress?”

“No, sir.”

“What’s different?”

“This one’s the Premier.”

Of course it is.

Then there’s the mattress store itself.

You lie down on a bed in the middle of a brightly lit showroom while a salesman watches you.

“How does that feel?”

I don’t know, Harry.

Give me eight hours, turn off the lights and quit staring at me.

Somehow, based on those 90 seconds, I’m supposed to make a decision about something I’ll sleep on for the next ten years.

And no matter what I pay, I’ll spend the next decade wondering whether the guy before me paid $600 less.

Which brings me to a conclusion I’ve reached after 72 years on this planet.

Costco

If Costco sells it, buy it at Costco.

I’m increasingly convinced this is one of life’s great principles.

I’m not claiming Costco always has the absolute lowest price.

I’m saying I generally don’t have to spend three hours figuring out whether I’m getting screwed.

There’s the mattress.

There’s the price.

Do I want it?

Yes or no.

Done.

Same with clothes.

Same with electronics.

Same with tires.

Same with toilet paper.

You go in for three things and leave with pants, a rotisserie chicken, 48 rolls of toilet paper, enough paper towels to clean a small hotel and, somehow, a kayak.

But you feel pretty confident you got a decent deal on all of it.

So after pondering all these mysteries, what have I learned?

Not much.

I still don’t know why God created humans in His image and then designed us so we’d need toilet paper.

I don’t know why the person parked beside me always leaves when I do.

I don’t know why some men wear tank tops.

I don’t know what a hospital procedure actually costs.

I don’t know whether my $795 suit was ever really worth $795.

I don’t know why churches aren’t more transparent about their finances.

And I sure as heck don’t understand mattresses.

Maybe that’s okay.

Perhaps getting older isn’t about figuring everything out.

Maybe it’s about becoming comfortable admitting how many things make absolutely no sense.

Although I have managed to figure out one thing.

God may have created us in His image.

But thankfully, He also gave us Costco.