|This is where my keys belong at work.|
The gravestone watches over them.
My husband loses things but in a different way. Whereas I lose my sunglasses, keys, cell phone and remote six or seven times a day, he loses things once and irrevocably. (When we got married I had tools. Now I have wire snips and a drill - that I have to constantly remind him is mine. That's all I'm sayin'.)
He is annoyed by my daily losing activity. He likes to get on me about why I can't ever find my keys or where I left my phone last. "If you would just put things in the same place every day..." is like a mantra for him. It's right up there with "...and get off my lawn," in the how-I-know-I'm-married-to-an-old-man category.
It's not uncommon for him to, in a fit of ire, dump out the key bowl and list everything in it that isn't a key. Or to throw all the hairbrushes into the hallway for a week.
My typical response (because I am a lady and also a grown-up) is to tell him to go to hell. Also to tell him that if he is so interested in putting things where they belong, I should point out that in no way do socks belong in the living room. And also, "Help me find them or get out of the way, you jerk." Although I only say "jerk" when the kids are standing there.
His magic not-losing-place, by the way, is his pockets. Must be nice. I'm a girl. Not everything I have has pockets and some of them I wouldn't trust with a breath mint.
In any case, he called me today. When it was time for him to leave and go get Brynna from school.
"Did you by any chance move my keys this morning?" he wanted to know. All sweetness and light.
"Nope." I'm busy ya'll.
"I left them on the coffee table and they aren't here." Now he's getting testy.
"Are you sure you left them on the coffee table?" I prod. "Because you left them in the front door yesterday and I took them out and threw them in the key bowl."
"Yes," he yelled. "And I took them out of the key bowl and left them on the coffee table so I could find them today." I'm not sure why the coffee table (by all accounts a spot for coffee) should be a better spot to find keys than a key bowl (by my account, a decorative wooden bowl for keys).
"Okaayy..." I don't really like being yelled at when I'm at work. Because I can't yell back, of course.
"If I can't find them, you're going to have to go get Brynna!" at this point he's worked up into a fine lather. I can practically see the angry white triangle appearing on his red head.
"Well..." I'm preparing to inform him that I can't get Brynna as I've already taken a lunch break and he'll have to make some calls. Since he can, apparently, find his phone.
"Here they are," the relief in his voice is palpable.
"Where were they?"
"On the kitchen counter. Don't ask me how they got there."
And tonight, if and when I ever get home from the accursed Grocery Store of Doom, I am so going to tell him that if he'd just put his stuff in the same place all the time...