My Scissors

“Hey Hon, have you seen my…?”

“They are wherever you left them.”

It’s an exchange repeated so often in our household that it has become the mantra of our marriage and to be honest, it is mostly me doing the asking and mostly my wife doing the answering.

In this case it was my scissors.

I was asking about the industrial grade shears that I use for opening hard plastic packaging – which I set down less than a minute ago – and when I say a minute, I do not mean a vague moment. I mean less than sixty seconds ago.

Now I can’t find them.

They did not walk off by themselves – although I will not count that out – rather I most likely set them down somewhere and for the life of me, I can’t recall where.

I was opening a package of LED lights in our kitchen, a kitchen that was unusually clean in anticipation of company, so I did not lose the scissors in the typical clutter.

Still, I managed to do it and had to yell to my wife for assistance. I did not call her out of the hope that she knows where I laid the scissors down, rather I called her to invite the humiliation that is the cost for finding anything in our household.

“If you would just put things where they belong,” she shouts back across the house, “you would find them.”

I do not believe her.

I have tried that.

The place where the scissors belong is in a large clay crock that rests on the counter on the far side of the refrigerator.

They are not there.

An alternate place where the scissors belong is in the junk drawer. I can’t honestly say they are not in the junk drawer, because one can never fully search the drawer. It is such a mess that it defies most human efforts in that regard.

Still, I looked.

The other place they belong is in the shed on my workbench. The shed is too far from the house for me to have walked there and back in less than a minute so I doubted they could be there – still I ran as fast as I could to check – just to be sure.

No such luck.

The other place the scissors belong is under the dining room table. I do not put things there myself – but the cats do and I would not put it past them in this instance.

Not there either.

In desperation, I asked, “Where do I typically lose things?”

“Check the refrigerator.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No, you always leave things on the milk shelf when you dig around for a snack.”

I will never admit it is where I found them but I will admit it never hurts to ask.