The Case of the Itinerant Green Scourers
I think that most men adopt a policy of ‘A place for everything and everything in its place’. Yes, I do stand in my garage with a vacant look on my face knowing that the gizmo I need I saw just a couple of weeks ago and put away very carefully for just this eventuality. But where?
So, I’m off to the shop to buy another and then trip over the bloody thing next time I walk into the garage. The saddest thing is, of course, that where it was found is absolutely the ideal place for it to be and if I was to put it away again - very carefully - I would put it exactly where I found it.
And forget again.
A staple in this house is baked beans - used in all sorts of things from the . . on toast variety to chili. For years I have had a single spot for these cans and can tell immediately if I am running short. The other day I found that we were out of cans and told my wife that.
‘No we’re not - we have some in the cupboard in the yard’. Huh? This is akin to swapping the clutch and brake pedals in a car. Now, suddenly, right out of the blue, I have to rifle every cupboard for a can of beans. So, one day, I’m going into the cupboards and organize them just the way I want - like the garage.
I digress - a little.
You know these green plastic scourers - sold in packs of three? Course you do. I like ‘em and use them for all sorts of cleaning jobs.
Now it’s my job to do the shopping for the basic stuff (beans are definitely on the list from now on I can tell you) which includes cleaning material. One thing I always buy are a couple of packs of scourers, not because we use the things, but because at some point prior to the shopping and when I need them, I cant’t find any.
So, I buy more and they disappear. I didn’t know my wife uses these things so much. So I buy some more.
This goes on for about a year and finally I ask with in exasperation ‘ Where do all the flaming scourers go? You must be using dozens!’
‘I never use them and we have loads’ - do we now? And where might they be?
And there, with a patronizing flourish, I get shown some forgotten little corner under the sink where there is a pile over a foot high. We have enough for years.
At the risk of sounding tedious, I put them in my little spot where they have resided conveniently for decades and some sort of shift in the earth’s magnetic field occurs and they end up tucked away under the sink in a spot that transposes three of my lumbar vertebrae trying to get them out.