Lifestyle

Is Our House a Black Hole or Am I Losing My Mind?

Apparently, I am the only person who can find anything

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My husband and I both just got home from work. I hugged him and told him I was going to do some writing. As soon as I sat down with my laptop, he yelled from the kitchen, “Where’s that little scrubbie thing?”

“What scrubbie thing? The hand brush or the one with the handle?” I asked.

“The one with the sponge at the end,” he said.

“It’s under the sink,” I said.

“I don’t see it,” he said.

Indiana Jones to the Rescue

Uggg. I got up and looked under the sink and there it was, its white handle protruding from a clear glass vase. I felt like Indiana Jones, but instead of the Ark of the Covenant, I found the coveted sponge scrubber. I handed it to my husband and he laughed.

This morning before I was even fully awake, my husband said he couldn’t find his Columbia jacket. I asked him which one he was referring to because he has five that he refuses to let go of, no matter how many times I’ve tried to get him to donate one or two.

“The one that has paint stains on it,” he said.