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We Misplaced Our Phones and Lost Our Minds?
The early morning ‘phonescapade’
We both lost our phones this morning! Two aging buffoons, ransacking our small 700-square-foot cottage, frantically searching for our fricking digital lifelines — without which, honestly, we are lost. And lost we were for thirty minutes of nonstop frenzy.
Thirty minutes of retracing our steps, opening drawers, looking under pillows, under the couch, in the fridge (don’t ask), the laundry basket, the mailbox, the microwave.
Blaming each other: if my husband hadn’t first lost his phone, I wouldn’t have had to search for mine to call his. Blaming the dog — if he hadn’t taken the dog out for a walk, maybe the dog wouldn’t have knocked the cushions off the couch where the phone might’ve been hiding. Round and round we went, two neurotics on a caffeine rush.
And it wasn’t even 7 a.m. yet.
Luckily, we weren’t in our burnt five-bedroom, 3,600-square-foot family house. Otherwise, we’d still be looking. I guess that is one of the upsides of losing our home — smaller territory to lose our minds.
We’ve never both lost our phones before, so this is a new one. Another frontier to cross — the one just before decrepitude and, finally, death. I don’t think we have dementia yet, but who knows? It might just…
