I wrote a check the other day and 10 minutes later I couldn't find the checkbook. I still haven't. I never left the house so I know it's in there.
Yes, I looked the last place I was. Yes, I've retraced my steps. If one more person tells me to do those things he's going to lose his head and I'm going to lose my freedom after the sheriff finds me.
Yes, I've looked in all those places ten thousand times, and so has my wife. When I saw her open the refrigerator door I assured her "I already looked in there -- and in the freezer, too."
So don't tell me to retrace my steps. We've torn the house apart. I've even checked the garbage -- piece by piece. Just in case, we're putting the garbage out at someone else's house. Our garbage runs so early we have to put it out overnight, so I don't want anyone grabbing my checkbook -- and my one credit card, which was in there, too.
I can live without the checks and the card. I can just move on to the next batch of checks and have a new card issued. I use the card only for online purchases anyway -- and rarely even that.
They're all in the house, so nobody's going to steal them. But it's the frustration of not being able to find something you know is there.
While looking I found a receipt for the Boston butt I couldn't find on the Saturday before Memorial Day. Happily, the barbecue joint took my word for it that I had indeed bought it.
Today, I lost my camera. It's a digital SLR, not a tiny point-and-shoot. There's no reason you can't find a camera that big. I think everything's been sucked into another dimension.
And I think my virginity's in there somewhere.
Photo: NASA/Chandra X-ray Observatory