I stand in the center of the living room, rotate clockwise, then counterclockwise, briefly consider the nearly obsolete term “clockwise” and quickly dismiss it.
These sorts of thoughts are what have left me in this predicament in the first place.
For I cannot find my phone.
Sumnabitch.
I have done roughly three million things in the last hour – a new record for me – one of which was to have a phone conversation.
I try to recollect the last of the conversation and cannot. We said “good-bye”, I know that for sure. And I had noted at the time, for some reason, that I had been on the phone for roughly 12 minutes. I had recalled that one of my to-dos for the day was to iron the black pants that I would be wearing at a serving job later today…
And then: blank.
I look around the house. I have been in every room since hanging up – another nearly obsolete term, now that I think of it – folding, straightening, washing, sweeping. I have polished, tidied, disposed of and watered. I have removed one cat from a load of laundry and the other from the interior of my purse, where she appeared to be scrounging for my car keys…
That lousy phone could be anywhere.
I need it to ring. Then I’ll find it.
I know, I think cleverly. I’ll call Mary and ask her to call until I find it…
I have scarcely finished that thought when I am forced to give myself a figurative and much-deserved dope-slap to the forehead.
Good goin’ there, Fuzzy, I think to myself. I should totally call Mary. Now where’s my phone?
And so for the next half-hour I retrace my steps, go through storage bins, cupboards, cabinets, my purse, the hamper.
I ask the cat, who eyes me with such disdain that I find myself backing out of the room deferentially with promises of baklava later.
I think to myself, now if I were a phone, where would I be? Hmm. Not the beach. Even if I wanted to go to the beach, would last year’s suit even –
And then the phone rings.
And I find it on the charger in the office.
Why I oughta…