The agony and ecstasy of the infernal hunt

cat and mouse - losing it

What the heck did I do with my mouse?

I read that the average American woman spends 55 minutes per day looking for things. Wonder what the men are doing? They are probably the ones who misplaced the items in the first place.

Not since Burger King introduced the left-handed hamburger, have I been so baffled by a national phenomenon. But I absolutely believe it, and sometimes wonder if I don’t spend 55 minutes every HOUR in search of something, which leaves me only two hours a day in which to be productive. (That’s assuming I don’t sleep.)

And I’m not searching for the meaning of life or anything important like that. I’m looking for everyday things I know I have – somewhere.

I can put my hands on a grocery coupon which expired in 1983, but have not a clue into the whereabouts of my birth certificate! I submit to you that the best place to keep an important document is in the bottom of an old handbag you rarely use. It’ll still be there in 2020 assuming you don’t sell the bag at a garage sale.

I just spent 33 minutes looking for an outdoor extension cord so I could continue frumping up my Christmas decorations. I must have seven or eight of the heavy duty cords, but they’re playing a nasty game of hide and seek. After searching in vain for 33 minutes, I gave up and went to the store to buy more. That took another 19 minutes and cost me $17. About six months from now, when it is 105 degrees in the shade and I have no use for the blasted cords, I will run across them in some weird place – probably stuffed in a Christmas stocking.

Hey. I bet THAT’S where they are! So now I’ll go spend another 33 minutes trying to find the Christmas stockings.

The article I was reading went on to say about 80% of a home’s clutter is a result of disorganization, not lack of space. No surprise there. I just dumped out my “junk” drawer looking for a screw driver. All I turned up a rancid tube of lipstick, an empty aspirin bottle, a tube of dried up Super Glue, one cup of loose popcorn kernels and five napkin rings that haven’t been used this century. They are putrid pink. So why don’t I throw them away?! Because putrid pink may come back in style one day, and I’ll be ahead of the game.

I also made a huge batch of habernero hot sauce that’s better than Tabasco. I made four bottles and gave three away. The one I was saving for myself is AWOL. I suspect my neighbor broke in here late one night and took it. See how this messes with your mind?

This has got to be the root cause of depression, aggression and every other symptom of the national malaise. I got so frustrated looking for the cords in my pantry, that I slammed an old lamp I’ve been tripping over during my hunting sprees. I whopped it up against the wall, shattering it to bits and leaving a gash the size of the Grand Canyon. But it made me feel a little better. Now I must go find the spare can of the paint so I can touch up the damage – but where should the search begin? I’m sure it’s dried up by now anyway.

My girlfriends and I were discussing the topic on Saturday, and we discovered we all have this disorder. In fact, it seems to be getting worse – it’s terminal, I fear. We decided the cause is “trying to get organized.” We clean out a closet or drawer and try to move things to a more “accessible place,” and we never see them again.

The moral of this story is – never, ever move anything from its current nesting place no matter how illogical it seems. So what if the waffle iron is underneath the bathroom sink? If you move it to a more logical place in the kitchen, you’ll never see it again.

I’m so upset about this, I’m going to go sit by the fire a read my latest murder mystery. Now, where in the world did I put it when I straightened up for my party on Saturday? It’s gone! I bet one of my girl friends stole it!

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