You know when you have a lot of stuff, you're bound to misplace things now and again. It's only natural for a sock, or a lip gloss, or even a book to go missing (by the way, why do people say 'It turned up missing' - if it turned up than how can it be missing?? That's a peeve of mine...but that's neither here nor there - some people are stupid, I guess that's my answer.) But when things you really knew you placed somewhere specific went missing, doesn't it just eat you alive? I personally find myself to be fairly organized, so when something I know I placed somewhere (like my bag of nail polishes, or my extra set of house keys) I start to develop conspiracy theories. I run through the list of who's been in my house - who could have rifled through my stuff and ripped me off.
Well husbandette has been there, he is automatically my first culprit. I give him the third degree. "You must have moved it. Stop messing with me, ha ha, it's not funny, hand it over." After three or four hours of this interrogation I conclude that he probably doesn't know where my bikini is. So my mind starts racing. Was it the cleaning lady? She's a 250 lb, 60 year old Polish woman, would she have wanted my bikini? Probably not - but it's the only viable option so far so I consume myself with reasons why she would have taken it. Then it occurs to me that my girlfriend was over last week and I was showing her my new cute shoes, up in the bedroom...did I lend her my bikini? No, that's not like me - I don't like sharing runways with other gals, some things are sacred.
This whole experience leaves me anxiety ridden...which makes my mind wander to whether or not I should be on anti-anxiety medication. Now H-ette is mad at me because I angrily accused him of hiding my bikini. I start wondering, am I crazy? Did I even have a bikini or was it just a figment of my fashionable imagination? I'll never know.
From now on, I'm keeping a computer log of everything I own and where it is located. When I use something I will check it out, like the library. That way when something goes missing, I'll pop a pill and start pointing fingers. Don't mess with me, people.
Well husbandette has been there, he is automatically my first culprit. I give him the third degree. "You must have moved it. Stop messing with me, ha ha, it's not funny, hand it over." After three or four hours of this interrogation I conclude that he probably doesn't know where my bikini is. So my mind starts racing. Was it the cleaning lady? She's a 250 lb, 60 year old Polish woman, would she have wanted my bikini? Probably not - but it's the only viable option so far so I consume myself with reasons why she would have taken it. Then it occurs to me that my girlfriend was over last week and I was showing her my new cute shoes, up in the bedroom...did I lend her my bikini? No, that's not like me - I don't like sharing runways with other gals, some things are sacred.
This whole experience leaves me anxiety ridden...which makes my mind wander to whether or not I should be on anti-anxiety medication. Now H-ette is mad at me because I angrily accused him of hiding my bikini. I start wondering, am I crazy? Did I even have a bikini or was it just a figment of my fashionable imagination? I'll never know.
From now on, I'm keeping a computer log of everything I own and where it is located. When I use something I will check it out, like the library. That way when something goes missing, I'll pop a pill and start pointing fingers. Don't mess with me, people.
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3 comments:
Wait... that was a bikini bottom? I thought it was a ski mask!
"Have you seen my... weiner?"
Oh right. I'll get it back to you tomorrow ... late tomorrow.
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