Earlier this afternoon, Dear Hubby was frantically searching for his training kit bag. I was away last week, and came back to a certain amount of what I call "man-splaying" - miscellaneous crap spread out on every flat surface in sight. Also came back with a terrible cold and a head full of mud. So I had done some vague, unfocused straightening a few days ago, and I had a hazy memory of seeing the bag somewhere it ought not to be, moving it, and thinking I'd found a diabolical hiding place, serve his lazy ass right!
I still have the cold, and the memory of what was possibly the bag in question is even hazier now, so after I realize what he's been searching for a while I feel a bit guilty but can't for the life of me remember what I did with the damn bag. He's getting frantic and mad, especially after I confess that I might have moved it. We're both tearing the house apart. He did get to fuming and threatening murder; I suggested that was extreme, given that I hadn't killed him for taking my car keys OUT OF THE PLACE THEY BELONG for no reason at all last year when I was away and losing them forever ($300 to replace!).
We had searched everywhere, every closet, chest, basement bin... twice. Then I looked around the back of the couch, where the stationary bike sits, next to a table. There's a nice little visible, out-of-the-way nook with a green kit bag in it! And I realized why I'd thought it was so diabolical.
Serves his lazy ass right, all right. Now let's talk about cutting off my nose to spite my face...