I had the following exchange with Mr. Kitty last night.
Me: Hey, hon, where’s your PDA? I need your parents’ address so I can send out your dad’s birthday card.
Mr. K.: Briefcase.
::bobkitty wanders over to the briefcase, begins rifling through contents::
Me: I don’t see it…
Mr. K.: Try one of the pockets.
::rifle. rifle. rifle.::
Me: Oh, here it… HEY!
Mr. K.: Problem?
Me: Are these the valentine cards I asked you to mail?
Mr. K.: What cards?
::pulls out neatly rubber-banded stack of cards::
Me: THESE cards. The ones I asked you to mail out, oh, like TWO MONTHS AGO???
Mr. K.: Oh. Uh, yeah. I knew I forgot something.
Me: You’ve been walking around with my valentines day cards in your briefcase for two months, and you FORGOT? Aaarrgghhhh.
Mr. K.: Well, you could always send them anyway. It’s the thought that counts, right?
::rest of scene deleted because this isn’t the pit::
It’s a conspiracy, I tell you. A world-wide conspiracy. Do you know my white elephant package has been sent back to me THREE TIMES? Every time I re-send it, I give it very specific instructions on stopping and asking for directions if it thinks it’s lost. Does it listen? Hell no. It’s like a boomerang box full of crap. My crap is magnetically attached to me. No matter how hard I try to get rid of it, it finds its way back home.
::banging head against desk::
So. Anyone want their two-month late valentine card?