I think I left it in here somewhere…
Where did you have it last?
Check behind the couch and under the cushions.
Cushions: only thirty-eight cents in change (heyyyyyy, a 1943 nickel!), some Froot Loops, a comb and a lot of cat hair.
Dust bunnies and a dead fly behind the couch.
Did you check in the fridge? My husband once set down the TV remote in the fridge during a commercial. You never know…
While you’re there, check the freezer. When I’ve been really tired, I’ve left the remote, the keys, my inhaler, lighter, in the freezer at one time or another.
Did you look in the bathroom? Under the bed? On the balcony?
Thanks for your help guys, but the night manager at Donut Man just called. Said he found it in the fryer early this evening. Haven’t the faintest idea how it got there, though.
Mmmmmmmm…deep-fried radio.
You know, I never did find my green corduroy jumper…
Maybe you left your cell phone in the pocket. Call it and find out.
I had this brilliant idea as I was posting. I might have put the jumper in one of the dresser drawers, and over the course of many openings and closings, it might have worked its way over the top of the drawer and into the chest itself.
I pulled out the first drawer, in case the jumper was wedged between its back and the back wall of the chest. No. Pulled out the second drawer, which is also the bottom one, to see something crumpled up on the carpet (no base on the chest). Reach in and…
…it’s my blue Oxford shirt that I had to get for my job at Denny’s. (I think Opal might still have the story, entitled “The Grand Slam”, on the Teeming Millions Tales page of her TM site.)
So where the hell is it? I refuse to accept that it might be gone forever. I never took it anywhere, I never lent it, and Mr. Rilch doesn’t hate it, so he wouldn’t have spirited it off to the Salvation Army. I know it’s not in the closet; I have investigated it thoroughly to this purpose. My last hope, at the moment, is that it’s in the storage space. Don’t know why it would be there, but I once thought I lost a CD. We had the case, but not the disk. So we combed the truck, asked the person who we’d been visting the day it disappeared, who knew nothing about it, and couldn’t lie to save his firstborn child, and looked through every CD case in the house.
A year or more later, I was going through a box of when-I-get-around-to-its, and it gleamed up at me from the museum brochures and cosmetic samples. Still don’t know how it got from the truck to the box, but I didn’t let such mundane ponderings obscure the joy of our reunion.
While we’re on the subject, anyone seen my Walkman? No, I don’t know where I had it last.