Am I the only one who finds that certain items chronically go missing in my house?
I realise there’s always the classic sock hostage situation – where two go into the dryer, and one comes out. It’s like a wormhole opens up in the machine at some point in the run, but only one sock can get through before it closes. I sit and think about how it all unfolds (see that expert pun?). This portal suddenly appears and hones in on a single Hanes cushioned crew, which it sucks into its vortex. Does that sock try to reach for its partner so they can escape as a pair, or selfishly make a break for it with no thought for the other laundry?
And what about the one left behind? Does it mourn the loss of its mate, or does it sit back and relax in the knowledge that now its owner will have to buy a new pair, so it no longer has to be pulled onto a smelly foot for the rest of its days? It’s confident it won’t be thrown away, because everyone knows we never throw away a single sock, just in case the other one miraculously reappears at some point. It’s living life high on the hog. No more missing the disco in the underwear drawer on a Friday night.
Yes, I’m a lot of fun at parties.
If it were just my socks stock that got depleted over time, I could live with it, but those aren’t the only household goods that seem to do a runner. For years, we have not managed to find out where the small spoons go; I’m talking teaspoons and their ilk.
My best friend and housemate Lynne was the first one to notice their disappearance (and on a separate but related note, it’s like living with Miss Marple sometimes).
I was sitting down after a long day at work, and the investigation began.
“Vicki, do you have any small spoons in your bedroom?” she asked, as she rifled through the cutlery drawer. “We seem to be missing a few.”
“I don’t think so,” I replied vaguely, unwilling to go and check as ‘Wheel of Fortune’ had just started.
She left it alone … on that night, but I knew that unless they showed up in the next couple of days, this was not the last I’d heard on the subject. They were on her radar. She had the bit between her teeth.
Sure enough, they got mentioned again on the weekend. Not only had the absent silverware not found its way home, but a couple more spoons seemed to have joined it.
We didn’t use them that often; I wasn’t a coffee or tea drinker; and we had soup spoons aplenty, so I had no need to reach for a smaller version to eat my mulligatawny one thimbleful at a time.
I know you’re all on tenterhooks, wondering how the mystery got solved. Had the cats taken them in the hope of bigger scoops of food in the future? Were the chickens having a dinner party in the garden?
Nope. We never found them. But I bought a whole bunch more just for a happy life.
Don’t tell Lynne.
The next item on the list might be more to do with how I handle my clothes than simple happenstance. I tend to ‘pile’ rather than ‘hang’. I’m one of those people who treats a closet like it’s purely ornamental.
That aside, where are all my bras?
I’m not going through a fancy, lacy stage at the moment. I’ve found a style that is simple and comfortable, so – like any practical person would do – I bought 10 of that design in a variety of colours.
Five months later, I’m washing in shifts the only two I can find. I’ve looked everywhere – in piles on the bedroom chair, in piles on the bedroom ottoman, in piles in the suitcase I haven’t emptied from the trip I took a month ago … I’ve even looked in the unmentionables drawer out of sheer desperation. They. Are. Gone.
I had a real crisis a week ago when I was outdoors and sweating for long enough that that bra had to immediately go into the laundry basket. The Tuesday bra was still soaking wet in the washer, and I had to go to the grocery store. There was only one thing for it. I had to rifle through The Backups. These are old models that no longer properly fit me, or have an underwire sticking out like a scythe.
Not wishing to be relentlessly poked in the underarm, I went with one I bought about 50 pounds ago. You know, when you just about manage to clip it together, but you end up with a second bum crack in your middle back.
It was a quick and somewhat painful visit to Foster’s, and as soon as I got in the door of the house, I hit the release on my chest tourniquet and sent it flying.
I know I haven’t left a trail of bras in my wake at various international hotels, so where have the other eight gone? Are the chickens using them for bungee games at night? A hen in each cup? It really is the only logical explanation.
I doubt everyone shares my above issue, but come on – how many of us find that our pens go walkabout all the time? I’m surprised that BIC hasn’t sent me a thank-you letter or a lifetime membership for its Ballpoint Club. I’ve bought so many of its products over the years, thanks to sometimes losing a whole pack of pens in a week.
Hair ties are another culprit. I have long, big, curly hair. That means that it is up in a bun 95% of the time, which requires an elastic hair band. In this case of things disappearing, I don’t misplace them individually. I buy a card with 20 wrapped around it; use two of them; then pile something on top of the card and can’t find it again. I must have 3,000 in this house, yet two days ago I had to tie a knot in the one I was using because it broke and I couldn’t locate a fresh replacement.
The more I think about it, I’m really not sure my piling policy is the most efficient way for someone to live.
I appreciate that a few of our lost possessions could be our (my) fault, but I really feel there are other forces at work here. Either that, or the wildlife around our house is having a field day with a steady supply of small spoons, bras, pens and hair ties. That’s gonna be some Trojan Horse.
