Don’t know about everyone else, but once I’ve found something I stop looking.
So things are always in the last place you look.
The worst part is she’ll blame you for putting it wherever it is when you find whatever she’s looking for!
Whoosh?
Anyway, the worst part is she will inevitably blame you for putting whatever she’s looking for wherever it is when you find!
Monkey, have you tried looking under the thingiedingies?
My mother does things like tell me “I ran into your classmate’s mother yesterday…”. I don’t bother to fish for clarification: first, “your classmate” may not even mean someone I ever shared a classroom with, but merely someone who is within 4 years of my age; second, she eventually clarifies; third, her stories are long enough as is, thank you! She also calls me on the phone to help her look for things: thankfully, her hiding processes are standard enough that I can assist her without even knowing what “that thing I need” is.
There have been times, specially when she’s cooking, when she’s ordered us to “pass that thing” with a vague gesture in the direction of the fridge, freezer and pantry. “What thing?” “The thing!” “Mom, I love you dearly and stuff, but unless you’re clearer than that I’ll be passing you the big pan, and since you’re prepping the salad I can’t see how would that be useful. What thing?” “Damnit! You mean you still can’t read my mind? OK, let’s see…” Eventually she hits upon a good enough description, but it’s led to some interesting ones.
No, subtle difference. You find things in the last place you look, because you stop looking. Going to the last place you’d look - ie. that unlikely place - is a different joke. Way to kill them both though!
I think I’ll try this with my mother the next time she gets vague on my nerves.
Thank you for proving that is was indeed a whoosh.
You missed the subtlety of **Punoqllads’s **post as a play on the old adage and restated the obvious response.
Point and match.
I’ll give you the same helpful answer my douchbag BF gives me whenever I’m looking for some thing at my house:
“It’s over there.”
“Over where?”
“Over there.”
No there is no pointing, nodding, nor gesturing at all in any given direction to help me on my quest to find wherever “over there” is.
It’s just his bullshit passive aggressive way to not have to A) help me look B) think about what I just asked him and actually take a second to consider and give me a thoughtful response.
Two nights ago…
My wife: “So…about dinner…”
Me: <sigh> “Fine, I’ll run to Taco Bell”. (Please keep in mind that we haven’t had Taco Bell in at least six months)
My wife: “…”
Me: “What?”
My wife: “How the fuck could you possibly have known that’s what I was craving??”
Me: “I try and tell you all the time, and one of these days it’s possible that you’re going to get wise to the fact: I. Know. Everything about you, usually well before you do. You can never, ever keep a secret from me. Even now, those things you think I don’t know about? I do… believe me, I know all about them.”
Nothing like making the luckiest fricking guess in the world to put your spouse back on her heels.
Well, it’s better then the “under there” response.
I think I saw it in her art supply box.
I still remember that day about 40 years ago when my mother said, “Gary, would you go in the room and get the thing for me?” I took a guess, went in a room, grabbed a thing, and got it right. My father just shook his head and poured another drink.
Under where?
It’s in the junk drawer. Good luck finding anything in there.
:: punches BF in the cock before he thinks of that one ::
My Dad is in his 70s and starts his conversations in the middle:
Dad: "so she was telling me that she asked her neighbor to come over and look at the washing machine, blah blah blah…
5 minutes later
…and the hose was unhooked, but its fixed now and she can do her laundry again’.
Me: “Who are we talking about?”
Its probably in the alternate universe where all the lost socks and mittens are.
I have a friend who does this. So one year I got her this hideously ugly fake African statue thingy for Christmas. Now, whenever I’m at her house, if she asks me to get the “thing” she know I’m just going to head for the back shelf of the closet in the den and bring Harold to her.
Heh, heh. 
Mrs. Geek does this to me all the time.
Mrs. Geek: Where’s the thing?
Me: Is it a big thing or a little thing?
Mrs. Geek: You know, the thing, the thing that goes in the thing.
Me: Oh, that.
The scary thing is that more often than not, I can figure out what she’s looking for just from that.
We had this conversation a couple of nights ago.
Mrs. Geek: Who’s that guy?
Me: What guy?
Mrs. Geek: The guy that was in that TV show.
Me: Which TV show?
It took another dozen or so clues before I could figure out who she was talking about.
I’ll tell you the location of “there” when you tell me the meaning of “thing.”
You gave it to that guy. You know, tallish short guy, brownish blonde hair…