In November, the impeccable results of a survey slid into our emails, the kind of important study we here at Dropping In headquarters will drop what we’re doing in order to read, or at least skim.

The stalwart individuals at (checks notes) something called jeffbet.com — a website that sounds VERY legit, and a lot like the name friends would give their buddy Jeff who likes to gamble — told us, “The vast majority of American women have experienced ‘THE MANSPLAINER,’ aka a colleague or partner who explains information to women in a condescending manner due to the difference in gender.”

Jeffbet asked more than 2,000 women around the U.S. about how often and where they encounter mansplaining they regularly encounter, what topics men mansplain the most and their experiences dating and working with mansplainers. It turns out that Oregon is the mansplaining capital of the U.S.

Well and good. Now, you see, dear reader, the thing about mansplaining is — ha! — there is no WAY I’m just going to waltz into that trap.

I have by and large dodged mansplaining accusations for one very good reason: I have absolutely no idea how anything works. If you have a question you’re ever considering asking me, my answer would be you should probably ask someone else. If that’s not an option, maybe send me the question in an email one week before you need an answer, and also before it’s due, remind me you sent it. Hey, like Socrates said, true wisdom lies in knowing that you know nothing, so I’ve got that going for me, at least.

In order to mansplain, you have to have something to say and/or be convinced that you are right about things. You do not write about other people and events that have yet to transpire, as I have done for nearly three decades, and learn about how things work, at least not in any tangible sense. I’ve talked to lots of smart and creative thespians, artists, writers and so forth, then half-digested what they told me, and voila, words, on a page, sometimes readable, usually delivered just past deadline and still falling short of feeling fully cooked. That’s not really the stuff of mansplaining glory.

Or so I thought. Several times a couple of years back, my wife began pointing out, in real time, that I was talking about (read: explaining) things she already knew. This occurred just frequently enough that my brain began to string them together, like a succession of extension cords offering just enough juice to light a 40-watt bulb in my head, illuminating me as I thought, “Oh my God. Am I mansplaining?”

I never did it condescendingly, but I’m certain it came off that way just the same (she told me). I often think out loud. Sometimes it’s as if I’m reminding myself about whatever it is that I am, because I am speaking, unintentionally mansplaining. As a friend back in college said more than once to me, “You have a knack for stating the obvious.” OUCH, Scott! Still cuts. Still hurts.

Column: Whoa, I might be biased about words

According to the jeffbet folks, the No. 1 city for mansplaining is, you guessed it, Portland. Too bad “Portlandia” is no longer in production because they could’ve had a field day with this. Instead, you’re stuck with me. And as it turns out Bend is No. 1 with lots of things. You just have to look for them, maybe survey a friend.

Bend is No. 1 for …

Roundabouts. The number of roundabouts in Bend compared to Oregon’s other cities is staggering. Or at least dizzying.

Driving through roundabouts with the left signal flashing. It’s not necessary, but thanks to visitors pumping up the numbers, Bend drivers go the extra mile, with their signal on. Some of those same drivers don’t signal their exit. That’s really doubling down on doing it wrong, and for that, Dropping In salutes you.

Food carts you can’t find. There is nothing quite like going to check out the food truck you’ve been hearing about, only to arrive and find it closed perhaps because it’s Tuesday and it snowed on the hill, or because it is closed for the season, or it just up and moved. As a friend recently said, “I would never drive to a food cart without trying to determine if they’re actually open or not, because I drive around town and see all of them with their windows closed, especially this time of year. … Does it keep regular hours? Do I have to hope they’ve posted to Instagram? Do I have to hope they’ve posted something that doesn’t disappear after 24 hours? This is not the experience I want out of going somewhere to eat.”

Keeping up with the Jones’ ride. Rivians must be REALLY good vehicles, because there sure are a lot on our roads, usually in that one shade of green I don’t know the name of. I should call it Arvida, which was the name of my junior high school, which had a similar coloring with a touch more seasickness to it.

Stickering only your roof box. We get it — you’re outdoorsy, presumably driving narrow, limb-lined forest roads to trailheads, maybe even tattooed a bit yourself. But you’ll be darned if you are going to mar the metal skin of your Subaru with stickers! That kind of look is exactly what the Thule box on your roof rack is for.

People who move here from a bigger city and wonder why Bend doesn’t have this thing or that thing. Look, Luna and Liam, you know how market size and supply and demand work, right? No? Well, maybe your arrival is the tipping point indicating that the town is now big enough for whatever you’re missing. Nothing ventured, nothing gained!

Breweries. There must be something in the water here.

Hydroflask ownership. Perhaps everyone is dehydrated from beer consumption, but Hydroflasks do very well in their place of origin. Also, I have lost and replaced at least three of them alone, so that really helps pump up the numbers.

Skateboard-themed weekly columns. One and only is still No. 1, baby!