I just got back from the corner store, where I went for a pack of cigarettes. I had thought I had a pack in my coat pocket, but when I went downstairs for it, the pocket was empty (well, it was full of a lot of junk, but no cigarettes). So I headed out.
Luis (I’m no longer patronizing Mike’s, unless I happen to be in that shopping plaza, because he stopped carrying Mavericks) said, “You were in here yesterday! You smoked a whole pack since then?”
“I think my brother-in-law must have snagged them last night while he was watching basketball. He did the same thing last year.”
“Well, I hope he pays you back!”
“He will! He did last year.”
Arrive back, sit down at the computer and find…
…an unopened pack sitting between the monitor and keyboard.
Now when the heck did I retrieve them, and why didn’t I remember having done so?
When I was a kid, I read a story about a farmer who was watching his crops wither during a drought. He peeled a potato, or started to, then put it on the kitchen table and went outside again. Later, he came back and found the now moldy potato on the table, wondered vaguely what it was doing there, and threw it away. “What a silly,” I thought. “Why would anyone peel a potato and then throw it away?”
Now I understand. I think I need to take a break from war coverage.