One of the People that I live with prefers to lounge around the house in underpants. I’ve always heard there are people who like to do that but have never lived with one until now. I shall call this child Go Put On Pants.
I did some grocery shopping today along with running other errands, and on a whim picked up a jar of maraschino cherries. I don’t eat them, but certain others of These People do, so I placed them on a shelf in the pantry and chuckled to myself, thinking I’d get to surprise someone and add some cherries to their ice cream.
Several hours later, I attempt to open the fridge and immediately recoil because there is something sticky all along the handle. Our fridge is black so there was no telltale color to give away what the culprit may have been. I protest, “EWWW!” and grab the wash cloth that is three feet from the fridge, wipe it down, and move on.
Fast forward to tonight when Go Put On Pants starts ladling ice cream into a bowl. I head into the pantry… and there is no jar of cherries. Where is the jar of cherries? I feel like the butcher’s wife in “Into the Woods”; “five gold pieces? Where are the five gold pieces?”
I check the shelves above and below, I check behind things (I am a mom, and I know how this works), and I stand there, stymied. I bought those today. Today! Where did they go?! Dada pokes his head in to ask what I’m doing and I explain that I can’t find the jar of cherries that I put RIGHT THERE.
“You bought them today?”
“Yes! I bought them TODAY!”
I step out of the pantry and holler, “Go Put On Pants, did you get into the cherries?!”
“I only had twoooooo!”
“Where are they?!”
“I put them in the fridge!”
Mysteries solved. I am outmaneuvered yet again!
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