Lost

I think my husband may have been a ferret in another life. The suspicion began several years ago when a friend of mine discovered her ferret, had been placing unusual items in the wall.

It wasn’t an immediate observation, but rather a home improvement discovery. As she tore down the wall separating the kitchen and living room in her then home, she found her lost set of keys, a spoon, an old cell phone, the garage door opener, and all manner of misplaced trinkets.

This prompted an expedition throughout the house in search of other nooks with lost stuff.

But what does this have to do with my husband? Well, he’s certainly at least as amusing. And he too is a creative re-arranger of sorts, though without the “stashing” motivations that fueled my friend’s ferret’s activities.

Despite his ability to keep track of a mighty client list, the busiest social calendar on earth, everyone’s birthdays (including people we hardly know), and five conversations at once... he still rushes about the house in the morning, at a loss as to why he can’t find his (fill in the blank).

My humble opinion and very official opinion: His organizational instincts have evolved in unique ways, prioritizing ideas and trivializing objects. This makes predicting where he will place physical items challenging, even for him.

The result is that remembering ten thousand little things poses no problem for him at all. Dare I say, it’s his X-Man ability. Actual material stuff, though, slips through the cracks... and into the drawers... and the closets and—

What do I mean? Allow me to illustrate with a few recent findings:

* Toothpaste... in the silverware drawer
* Clean socks... in the refrigerator
* TV remote... in the linen closet of the master bathroom
* Keys... in the freezer

The possible and probable scenario:

(Deep breath) Hubby walked out of the bathroom, toothpaste in hand, got a spoon (dropped the toothpaste in the drawer), went for the milk (left the socks), got breakfast then turned on the TV, got ready in the bathroom (left the remote with the towels), grabbed another pair of clean socks; when he was almost ready (keys in hand) got thirsty and went for a glass of water, got some ice (left the keys), drank the water, kissed the wife (that’s me *grin*), and proceeded to lose his mind looking for the keys.

Then again maybe he was once a talented magician—Houdini even—who, in this life, can’t seem to remember how to make things re-appear.

So frantic, confused, and now running late, he checks every pocket (including mine), looks on and under the tables, checks in his shoes, and peeks in every jar.

Then with a pointed finger raised in a fabulous ah-ha expression, struts to the kitchen, swings the icebox door open, and reaches among the bags of frozen veggies. TADA! There beneath the peas lie his cold and well-preserved keys.

He’s ready to go. Seconds later (poof!) he disappears out the door... and leaves the freezer door wide open.