SH: Where are the scissors?
Me: I don't know.
SH [frustration as he looks in the drawer where the scissors live]
Me: You probably left them someplace.*
He goes to the basement, where the scissors are right where he left them yesterday when he was assembling the TV stand he bought from Menards months ago and I hate because it's a cheap Chinese product of pressed wood but it was that or a nice Chinese antique for $500 in which we would have had to drill holes in the back for all the cables and wires from SH's electronoics, plus we would have had to pay someone to put it on our basement, the stairs of which are not to current code, which means not a lot of headroom and very narrow, potential broken bones stairs.
SH: Got 'em.
Me: I told you it was your fault.
SH: I can probably find a way to blame you.
* I always put things back where they belong, which is why I can always find things. Unless SH has left them someplace, of course.