Where is my green corduroy jumper?

I can’t find it, and I can’t remember when I last wore it.

I’ve had it for a long time, and it’s older than I am. It belonged to my sister in the early '60s. It’s good quality, and looks great on me. I sort of forgot I had it for a while, but that doesn’t mean I won’t mourn it if it really is gone.

I can’t imagine it’s anywhere but on a hanger, but it’s not in either of the closets. Tomorrow I can go through drawers. I’m not doing that now because it would be panicking. I don’t know how it could have gotten anyplace where clothes usually aren’t: in storage, for instance. (I don’t store clothes.) I wouldn’t have forgotten it at a friend’s house. I might have left it after an extended stay at my MIL’s house, but I don’t think I ever brought it there.

So where is it?

Sorry man. I meant to put it back in your closet but forgot. I’ll try to bring it by tomorrow, alright?

Sorry again.

–Tim

It ran off with my beautiful (and mostly green) Shetland pullover - I just didn’t want to tell you.

Is there a chance it needed mending and got put away in an odd place for its extended holiday, perhaps?

Doh, Celyn! I bet that’s where it is! I can’t look now, because the mending depository is in the same room as Mr. Rilch, and he just got to bed after a 16 hour day. But I bet that’s it! Thank you…I hope.

Eh?! Do you mean I really made a sensible suggestion? This is good (plus it vindicates me for leaving mending for 5 years at a time, otherwise I wouldn’t have this wisdom.)

I do hope you find it.

…leaving mending for 5 years at a time…

You too, huh?

It’s a jumper? Have you looked out on the ledge?

Hush, Finagle, you mustn’t spread unnecessary panic, you know.

:looking fabulous in beautiful(and mostly green) Shetland pullover and vintage green jumper:

I’m sure I haven’t got a clue. Did you look where you last had it? Honestly some people would lose their head if it wasn’t attached.

Wife - What are you doing?

Me - Shortening my pants.

Wife - Put them in the mending pile and I’ll do it.

I look at the mending pile, see clothes that not only don’t fit my oldest daughter anymore, but also won’t fit either of her sisters who are four years younger than her, and go back to my mending.

However, I thought Rilchiam’s jumper was with the foot pedal for the sewing machine that Wife had me looking for at 3:30 AM the other night. Except I found the pedaal and didn’t see the jumper there. Maybe it’s with Wife’s sunday school manual that everybody—except her—spent two hours looking for the evening before that.