HIDE & SEEK

LOST AND FOUND

 

'Where did I put them? I had to have had them when I came in or I wouldn't be in here now, would I?' It's a tune I've croaked many times and each time I'm ready to tear my hair out. Yesterday I actually cut a pretty large strand off, underneath the back where I wouldn't see the mess I made. The idea was it would teach me a lesson. It doesn't. Today my keys are not hanging in the front door lock. They are not in
any of my many desk drawers. I have emptied and searched my purse three times, always feeling the linings, the corners. My unconscious mind speaks to me. 'Don't bother looking in the living room. Schmaltzhead, you haven't gone in there yet.' Frantic, I cry out loud, 'Damn you, Keys, where are you?' They lie absolutely still until I open the fridge door. Bam, they slide off the packaged salad I hadn't yet put in the hydrator, hit my shoe, snag my panty hose. The big sigh that rises from my chest is one of pure self-hatred. I straighten my spine and make a vow that I will never mislay my keys again. Under my breath, I add, 'or anything.' My canned and packaged groceries are arranged neatly in the pantry. Perishables go in the fridge or freezer, odds and ends in odd places.

 

On my desk are two high stacks of mail, yesterday's and today's. This is a 'must do' project. I turn on my computer, download music, push up my sleeves and get to work. After I empty the overflowing trash can under my desk, I separate pile one into more trash, coupons, statements, donation requests, personal mail. The coupons I start to shred and stop just in time to retrieve one for $5 off a $15 car wash. It doesn't expire until June 16 which gives me two weeks to use it. I file it under 'coupons'. Empty, useless envelopes add to the trash can build up. It takes over an hour to get the job done.  I feel great, powerful, mistress of my mind and body but a little pooped.

 

Dr. Oz comes on t.v. twice a day. I lie back on the sofa, reach for the remote on the side table where I always put it and feel a mushy banana skin that I meant to put in the garbage last night. This is a no brainer. The remote is in the garbage. I remove it, use a barely damp cloth to clean the salad oil and banana skin that have enshrouded it. Dr. Oz jumps around, gets hugs from his audience, talks too much, shows too many insides of humans and I want to switch him off. Where did the remote go? I haven't been off the sofa. I get off, feel the floor, look in the garbage can and don't find the clicker. But–I do, it slid down between the cushions I had been lying on it. Whew!

 

Joseph, my beleaguered husband, lost his patience with me long ago. I no longer tell him when I mis-lay something. Today I must. 'Breakfast is ready, Joe.' He hears me, pauses to tie his shoes, plops in his chair and asks for his O.J. 'Sorry, I apologize. I had a bad night and morning is already worse.' The only sound is the refrigerator opening and the O.J. pouring into his extra large glass. Non-stop he guzzles it down and waits for his once-over-light eggs to be served.

 

He knows me, knows I am seldom as quiet as I am this morning. '. Reluctantly he asks, 'So what have you lost now?. A leaden lump goes from my throat thru my heart and lays in my gut as if I were shot.
'Sylvia, the eggs are done. May I have them before the house burns down?' I can feel a quiver. My knees begin to knock. Joseph asks again, 'Well, what can't you find?' No words come out. He eats his over-done eggs and slightly burned toast and is ready to go to work. When I blurt out my answer, he stops. 'Joseph, the beautiful Parker pen you ordered from Paris, just for me, isn't in its box or in the glass that holds all my other pens. It's not between the sofa cushions or in my purse. I can't remember when I used it last–maybe a month ago. Joseph, I'm so sorry. I adored your thoughtful gift. It wrote so smoothly, it made my rotten writing look great. It's gone, really gone.' So is Joseph. His frustration shows. I don't blame him.

 

To no avail most of my day I open drawers, move chairs, go thru pockets. After our delicious but silent dinner, I clear the table, tidy up, kiss Joseph on the top of his balding head and get ready for bed. My clothes go neatly in my closet, my undies in the hamper. I do my normal ablutions, don a soft flannel nighty and step into my comfy, fuzzy white slippers. Something hard is up near the toes. Whatever it is I dump on the carpet. 'Joseph, Joseph,' I scream at the top of my lungs. "Joseph, Joseph, come up here now. I found my beautiful pen. Somebody, not I, put it inside my bedroom slipper.' He doesn't come upstairs to share my joy. I use the pen to write him a short note., 'I love you, Rat,'  put it on his pillow and climb into bed, snuggle under the quilt. He'll understand. 

 

Wednesday will be June 14 and I want use my $5 off coupon to get my car washed. I look and look, can't find it. I know I saved it someplace..but never find it.

 

I get it washed anyhow and pay full price.