The other night, in the midst of all of our packing insanity, I lost my purse. OMIGOSH! Where could it be??? I losted it!!
After about a half hour of frantic searching and calling myself every synonym of idiot I could think of, I had the bright idea to have The Targo call my cell phone. You know, when two people in the house are PhD candidates, you'd think we'd have a heck of a lot more common sense than this.
(aside) I need to interrupt this train of thought by telling you that Nathan loses my
keys EVERY DAY! He takes them when we walk in the door, and then? Well, they end up a myriad of places. I have found them all but once. I actually LOST that set of keys. Now that Nathan knows the word "key" (which he says like a Yiddish word --- as if it's spelled chhhee... like, challah), he always finds them for me. (/aside)
So, The Targo called my phone and of course, my purse was right in front of us. UNDER THREE BOXES! Jeez. I can't wait to move.