Y'all, I'm losing it.
A few weeks ago during a cold snap I lost both pairs of my favorite Spanx Tight End tights. (They are the greatest. Try them.) I searched the house high and low, did every drop of laundry and still couldn't find them. Turns out I had hung over a hanger to dry after washing and put them in my closet, hidden between other clothes. I found them a week later - after it had warmed up, of course.
But it gets worse.
Right after the New Year, I started reading Gabriel García Márquez's 100 Years of Solitude. It's been a slow read for me but I was diligently plugging away at it. And then, I lost the book. It just disappeared into thin air. Or so it seemed. The Mister and I tore the house apart. I stripped the sheets off the bed, moved couches, broke out the flashlight and left no corner unchecked. B even searched the freezer. (I guess I can be a little scatterbrained.) I was convinced the book had grown legs and walked away. After three weeks, I finally gave up on ever finding it and started a new book on Sunday.
Well, I found the book.
In my gym bag.
THREE weeks later.
I could not be more embarrassed if I tried.