When I read Mama Kat’s weekly writing prompt this morning, a chill went down my spine.
“Write about the last item you looked for.”
Oh, you’re gonna be sorry you asked me that.
Cuz now I have to tell you about the Satellite Radio That Grew Antenna Legs and Waltzed Away.
For years, Mike drooled over a fancy satellite radio that does all kinds of amazing things, like record songs, save dozens of preset channels, work as a portable radio with headphones, mow the lawn, and make one heck of a grilled cheese sandwich. I finally convinced him a year or so ago that he should just buy the darn thing, and the guy takes meticulous care of it. Every night, it comes out of his car and into the soft little black radio bag to sleep in the temperate house.
On Monday night, our routine was a little off. We’d met at Home Depot to pick up a new patio set. Usually I bring Ryan home, but my car was full of furniture, so Mike loaded him into his car, where they jammed to some pleasant satellite tunes. When we got home, Mike passed Ryan off to me, unloaded stuff from the car, and at some point, tossed the radio into a black hole where it has completely ceased to exist.
No, seriously. It’s gone. He realized this the next morning as he was getting Ryan strapped into the car and – gasp! – there was the little black radio bag, sitting in on his front seat, sans radio.
You might be thinking, “Eh, it’s around there somewhere.” But you would be wrong.
Over the course of the 24 hours, I watched my husband pace, tear things open and mutter to himself. He looked on the floor of the closet, in the laundry basket, in the garbage, under the kitchen table, and on and on and on.
By the next day, he was talking about how if he didn’t find it by Saturday, he was going to order a new one.
“Ok, stop it,” I said, finally getting a little annoyed. “It is around here somewhere. Stop panicking. It didn’t just run off.”
Mike and I during happier times.
As we, once again, retraced his steps that night, I came to the only possible logical conclusion: the radio is in one of our cars or in the garage somewhere. It never made its way into the house.
So back out to the garage we went, taking apart car seats and rummaging under seats with flashlights and looking on high-up shelves that we’ve never even used. Eventually, I had no choice but to move on to the next logical conclusion: It must be in the house.
So back in we went, tearing apart every inch of our house. We searched under the wine rack and in the refrigerator and behind the washing machine and under the bed. Nope, nope, nope, nope.
You might be thinking that he left it at Home Depot. But he will INSIST that he listened to it on the way home. (And don’t tell Mike, but I called Home Depot and asked, just to be sure. I mean, how reliable can we consider his memory to be?)