What Pliny Doesn't Know

I liked your post yesterday, said Pliny the Elder. I enjoyed adding up the number of things you did not know.

How many did you come up with? I asked.

Five, said Pliny.

Five? What were they?

The banana, said Pliny. You didn't know that they had no bananas.

That's one, I said.

The photograph of the muesli with the red berries on top, said Pliny You didn't know it was out of focus until you got home.

That's two, I said.

The photograph of the man looking at the toilets, said Pliny. You couldn't find it. That makes three. And not knowing how to work the toilet buttons. Four. And finally, you didn't know whether you would be allowed out.

Well done Pliny, I said. But if you recall, the post was entitled What You Don't Know, and there are one or two things that you don't know, as well.

Obviously, said Pliny. I don't know all the details of your unpleasant experience in the toilet.
Nor do I want to, he added. Is that it?

No, I said, I have a confession to make. Remember I said the man in the photograph looked pained and disbelieving?

Yes, said Pliny. That was most descriptive. I would have liked to have seen the photograph.

If you had, I said, you would have seen that he looked completely blank. The way a man might look when he is waiting for his wife to come out of a public toilet.

You mean you made it up? said Pliny, looking shocked. Why?

Transference, I said. It was me that had felt pained and disbelieving. I made it up because it seemed right.

It's cheating, said Pliny.

What do you know? I said.