This morning I (jokingly) drew Mr B's attention to the newspaper article about the wife who plunged scissors into her husband because he had annoyed her by not tidying up.
This was a big mistake on my part, not because Mr B didn't see the joke - but because it served to remind him that I have somehow mislaid our very best pair of scissors, the ones we use for just about everything.
You notice I appear to be admitting, straight up, that it is All My Fault. This is not necessarily so, but there wasn't much point arguing about who was in the wrong this morning. Some arguments are just not worth the breath they
use up, are they? The fact is that the scissors have disappeared from the second drawer down next to the cooker, where for several years they have lived in happy harmony with the cutlery, the wall can opener-which-isn't-affixed-to-a-wall-anymore and
the potato peeler which I can only use on carrots. Unless there was some kind of utensil war going on among the inmates of the drawer of which I was unaware, it seems likely that the scissors have disappeared while on a Cutting Mission.
I do hate it when things go missing. I am convinced that somewhere in our house there is a secret hiding-place in which all the Lost Things live. The wonderful cake knife which my grand-daughter Eleanor bought
me some Christmasses ago - it played "Happy Birthday", "For He's A Jolly Good Fellow", "Here Comes the Bride" and "The Anniversary Waltz." Not all at once, you understand but truly a song for every occasion. I loved that knife. I remember taking it to
a restaurant to be used for cutting the cake at a red-letter birthday meal. The restaurant owner was a trifle sniffy: "Shall I fetch you a special knife to cut the cake?" he enquired smarmily. "This IS a special knife!" I told him firmly. And so
it was - but WHERE IS IT? In the Hidey Hole For Lost Things, that's where.
Along with four of the six pretty serviettes I bought in Spain in 1984 matching the tablecloth bought on the same
occasion; the charger for my e-reader; and our DVD of "The King's Speech". Plus my early (possibly valuable) copy of "The Catcher In The Rye", Mr B's life-saving medal from circa 1958, and, of course, the scissors.
One day we will find them, our Precious Lost Treasures. Indeed, some of them have become all the more precious for being lost, if you know what I mean. We have invested them with an allure they never possessed
when we were using them every day. I don't count my cake knife, my book and Mr B's medal in this category, of course.
Mr B doesn't believe in my Hidey-Hole of Lost Things. He just wants
me to find the scissors.
I'm not sure exactly what he needs them for, all of a sudden...