My uncle should win an award for most items stolen in a single day. Of course, in his defense, some of these things have been missing for weeks and I only found them today. And he didn’t steal them. They magically appear in his room.
My house is a blackhole that spits random objects into the labyrinth that is his bedroom.
It makes perfect scientific sense.
I woke up this morning, went to go get my morning cigarette and couldn’t find the old pair of the husband’s boots that I slide on every morning.
It’s completely my fault for leaving them in the hallway by the door, which happens to be the same hallway that is right next to my uncle’s room. I came in to turn his TV on and, Oh look. There are my boots.
Me: Hey. . .Can I have my boots back?
Uncle: Huh? Those were sitting there. I just shoved them back further out of the way.
Me: Okay. I’ll move them out here.
Uncle: Don’t you have a room to put them in?
Me: -Thinking- Of course I do, but you decided they belonged in your room somewhere between the hours of midnight thirty and five a.m.
You’d think that would be enough, wouldn’t you? But no. Of course not. They went missing again when I went to go out after the kids had gotten on the bus.
This time they were outside. On the steps. Just sitting there all nice and neat like that’s where boots belong. I almost broke my neck tripping on them.
So, I made my uncle his lunch and took it in to him. There on his bed was a library book, stuffed full with pictures and bulletins from church and other random pieces of paper.
Me: Why do you have a library book?
Me: Is that Dude’s book? (Dude being the boy monster)
Uncle: I don’t know. It’s been here forever.
And it had. Dude’s book had been missing long enough that the school stopped sending weekly reminders about it and started sending daily ones. I’d had to call in, explain that it was probably lost in the maze of my uncle’s belongings and that I would get it to them as soon as it turned up. They finally started letting him check out books again. The daughter is also missing a book. I’d like to say it showed up, but. . .alas, it has not.
A few moments ago, he came out with his plate full of food and told me he needed a fork.
I’m forgetful, okay? But I wouldn’t have given the man a plate of food with no fork.
I’m not that bad. Really.
Did we find the fork? Of course. It was in his pocket.
Uncle: Did you put it there? I almost sat on it.
Me: Sorry. My mistake.
My soul is one lost fork today in the pockets of a man with dementia.
Herstory Lesson: A fork may seem like nothing important, until you sit on it. Then the fork becomes the center of your universe.