Lost

If you were tricked into reading this post because you thought it was about some cool TV show, I apologize. In fact, this is really about stuff that is, well, lost.

one Scotch tape dispenser, with tape
one pair of kitchen shears
two pairs of chopsticks
five pairs of scissors
three calculators
four Tupperware lids
one stapler
two more pairs of scissors
three staple removers
twelve spoons
four bowls
seven drinking glasses
and
three hundred and fifty-two pairs of nail clippers

See, when the other stuff went missing, I thought that maybe people had just taken them into their rooms, or outside, or somewhere else on the property, and they would turn up later. So I'd ask, "Hey, has anyone seen the scissors?" and everyone would answer, "Nope."

"That's funny," I'd say. "Because the last time I used them, I put them right back in this drawer. And now they're not there. So I'm assuming someone else has used them and neglected to return them."

"Huh," was the answer, in the manner of one who was as mystified as I was.

Then I'd tell everyone to clean their rooms, and the scissors would reappear, quietly, and all would be well.

Once I even posted "Wanted: Dirty or Clean" signs around the house, with photos of bowls and spoons on them, begging for their return, no questions asked. That had miraculous results too.

But the nail clipper situation has me completely stymied. According to my receipts over the last few years, I have purchased these items at an alarming rate. And if there really are hundreds of the tools laying around the house, even hidden, you would think I'd be tripping all over them every time I wanted to leave this computer, which isn't that often, but still. Either that, or you'd be sitting on the couch, feel something weird, and pull up the cushion to find about forty nail clippers underneath you. So it can't possibly be that the other family members are taking them and not returning them, because there are just too many. Also, people come in to my bathroom looking for nail clippers at the rate of about one per day, so I know they're not under their mattresses or anything.

The other night I dreamed that my toenails were two inches long, I couldn't get my shoes on, and I had no way to cut them. I can't really see any point in buying more. The last batch of five that I bought all disappeared before I had a chance to use one pair.

I don't know what the answer is. Daltonboy found hundreds of mouse skeletons under the house when we first moved in. Maybe the ghost mice had something to do with it. Or maybe the Borrowers live in the walls somewhere and are running a thriving nail clipper trade.

On the "found" end of the spectrum, this appeared on my kitchen counter this morning: two brand new, plastic Fire Chief hats, made for small children, possibly infants. They still had the little tissue paper separator between them.

"Where did these come from?" I asked.

"Idunno," was the answer from all quarters.

You'd think that if someone had been involved in any way with two tiny, red plastic hats, they'd remember that. You'd think that would stand out in a person's memory. Maybe this is part of the problem.

So anyway, did the Borrowers feel obligated to give us something in return for the clippers? The hats would have been an astute trade, because, clever as they are, I can't see any possible use for two huge Fire Chief hats--by anyone, large or small.

And now, I must end this story. My nails have grown too long for me to be able to type.