SH, after three days of not shaving (See: Men who work at home and wear the same boxer shorts three days in a row and the women who love them but don't LOVE them if you know what I mean), decided he might give growing a goatee another try. He had one years ago when the color of his face hair matched the color of his head hair, but then his head hair became gray and his face hair did not, but now his face hair has caught up so why not have a beard again? It looks good on him.
But having a goatee leads to its own grooming problems. One must trim a goatee with a special goatee trimmer, an item that SH owned in the past and was convinced that he still owned. But where was it? He knew where it was when he lived in the apartment. It was in the bathroom. I had packed the bathroom. Where had I put it when I unpacked the bathroom boxes? Where? Where?
I don't know. I am logical. I would have put it back in the logical place. I would have put it back into the bathroom.
SH tore apart the downstairs bathroom.
The upstairs bathroom. The bathroom closets.
Where WAS IT? IT WAS ALL MY FAULT!
Not my fault. I don't lose things. I have never, for example, lost my keys. Never.
Then he started looking downstairs. In the boxes. The boxes full of crap he had brought from California. Crap including phone bills from 1997. Receipts for Marissa's (stepdaughter #1) college tuition. She graduated years ago. Is married. Has a career.
I went down to supervise and feel superior as I watched SH pull the following out of just one box:
- A geode jammed into an N-Able Tech coffee cup
- A BMW model car cardboard display box. No car. Just box. Torn.
- Two cowbells that say "Rice" on them
- A Phi Beta Kappa magazine. From 1995.
- San Francisco newspapers. From 1996.
- A See's Candies metal Santa
- 1997 benefits package and org chart from a place SH no longer works
- Brochure: Sexual harassment hurts everyone
- An empty box
- Macintosh parts
- BMW mousepad, torn
- NOT an empty box. It has an S Vision microdisplay chip!
- Three dried oranges
- Earthquake preparation guide
- Wrapped Dilbert 1998 calendar
- etc. etc.
As I was standing around, I started poking in the random bin. You know the bin I mean: the one you have somewhere in your basement where you throw the stuff that has nowhere else to go. In my case, it contained the neighborhood association membership applications I had entered into a database last fall, a toaster to use on top of a gas stove that a friend brought back from Peru because I couldn't find one in the States, the Peace Corps Morocco t-shirt I got when we visited Steve and Megan, a jigsaw puzzle we have to return to SH's mom and dad (please don't make me borrow stuff when we live 1,000 miles apart unless you don't want it back), a bag of financial documents to take to the next shredding day, an old hairbrush, and what's this weird thing?
It's the beard groomer thingy. Sitting in the bottom of the random bin.
And guess what else is there? In the bag of stuff to be shredded?
The box of checks we couldn't find last month when we ran out of the first book and were tearing apart SH's office looking for them. We found the box of non-duplicating checks that the printer sent us by mistake, but the duplicating ones that they sent as replacements? Those are the ones I threw in the shredding bag. Not the non-duping. I was the one who misplaced them. Not SH.
I. I, who do not lose things, lost BOTH OF THESE THINGS. IT WAS MY FAULT.
There is a silver lining.
SH got rid of four boxes of junk and labeled the remaining boxes. I am willing to take the fall for this to get rid of some of his stuff.