Missing and Presumed Lost

Posted on August 28, 2022 by Sheila Moss

Oh, no, not again! I couldn’t find my glasses this morning. Where could they be? I always put them on the night stand by the bed so I can find them when I get up. Occasionally, I put them on the dresser. They were not either place.

 I tried not to panic. I know they are here somewhere. I didn’t want to have to ask my honey to help me find them. He thinks I’m stupid when I do things like this. I guess I am, but that doesn’t mean I want someone else to think so.

 Last time I lost my glasses it was awful. I was trying to get ready to go to work.

 “I can’t find my glasses.”

 “Where did you have them last?”

 “I don’t know.”

 “Where have you looked?”

 “Everywhere”

 “In your purse?”

“Yes, everywhere.”  

 I didn’t want start looking in crazy places where they couldn’t possibly be, like the refrigerator or microwave. Still, when you don’t know where something is, it could be any place.

Honey, bless his heart, started looking and found them on the nightstand beside the bed where I had only looked about three or four times already.

So, that’s why I didn’t want to ask for help. This time I located them all by myself on the floor beside the bed. I must have knocked them off this morning turning off the clock.

I hate it when I do something stupid like this.

Usually it is my cell phone that I lose. Apple had a stroke of genius when they included a phone finder program called phone finder in the iPhone. Of course, it can’t locate things exactly, but it can tell you the general vicinity so you at least know you didn’t leave it at the dentist or grocery store.

The thing I seem to lose most, other than glasses and my cell phone, is credit cards. I use it, stick it in my pocket or purse, and then forget to put it away later. It got so bad at one point that I had to get two or three replacements in a row.  Why does the old one only turn up after it has been canceled?

Finally, I learned. “Put it away. No matter how long it takes. No matter how much trouble it is. Put it away.”

Keys are the same way. After years of searching for keys all over the house, I have finally learned. “Do not throw them down on a counter or table. Do not put them in your pocket. Do not stick them in a drawer. Put them in your purse. Have one place to keep them and put them there.” I have to make a conscious effort but it works. It looks as if I may have to start doing this with glasses.

 I can’t even keep up with shoes. My Crocs had been missing for months when they showed up on my granddaughter’s feet.

 “Where did you find those Crocs?” I had looked everywhere. I had actually given up and planned to buy another pair.

 “They were under the bed.”

 I swear, I know I looked there. How could something be under the bed for six months and not be found? Shows what kind of housecleaning I do. I am sufficiently humiliated. I plan to move the furniture and clean good behind it this weekend. No telling what I will find other than a dozen cat toys and enough cat hair to create a new cat.

Right now I can’t think of anything in particular that is missing. It is almost like a treasure hunt, turning up loose change, ball point pens, screwdrivers, socks with no mate, peanut butter sandwiches, the neighbor’s dog. Who knows what else?

If I find any diamond rings or hundred dollar bills, I might try cleaning my house more often.

 Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss 

Posted in Home, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Tomato Festival

Posted on August 19, 2022 by Sheila Moss

“I’m tired of doing nothing,” I said. “We never do anything anymore except sleep, do chores, do errands, watch TV and go back to sleep. We need to do some fun things. We are in a rut.”

“I’m ready what do you want to do?”

“Well, I heard about something that sounds like fun – a tomato festival.”

“What’s a tomato festival?”

“I don’t know. I think it will be sort of like Oktoberfest that we went to a few years ago.”

“When is it?”

“Saturday.”

“I’m shopping for school clothes with your grandson on Saturday.”

“I know and I have to take the cat to the vet Saturday morning.”

So it goes… the reason we never have any fun… too many things to do and not enough time for fun.

Wait, we can make this work. The cat’s appointment is in the morning. “Can you shop for school clothes on Friday after work?”

And that’s how we made time to go to the tomato festival. It was about half over by the time we got there, of course. Honey somehow managed to parallel park in a place about half big enough for the car and we were ready to have fun.

It was so hot that I wasn’t sure how long I could last in the 90 degree weather. I wore my sun hat from Egypt, but the sun was beating down. It should have been a sun festival.

We missed the morning parade, but there were vendors, entertainers and activities — like throwing tomatoes and bobbing for tomatoes.

“This looks just like a street fair,” observed honey.

“It IS a street fair. That’s probably why.”

I was interested in looking at the various crafts and artisan jewelry. I like crafts… but the prices! “Some of these people really think a lot of their work,” I observed, looking at a $70 price tag for a wall plaque.

 There was a lot of tomato art, if you like pictures of tomatoes. I didn’t think a tomato picture would go with my décor, even if I could afford it. I also found some cute tomato necklaces, but figured I wouldn’t wear a tomato hanging around my neck. I passed by the booth selling sliced tomatoes as I am probably the only person in the world that doesn’t eat tomatoes.

I did want something tomato-ish, though. After all, it was a tomato festival. I ended up buying a cute dish that looked like a tomato. It was one of the first things I saw when we arrived. I had passed it by as I thought I might find something I liked more. I didn’t, so I came back.

“Don’t you want to get anything,” I asked.

“I need a brush to clean the barbeque grill,” he grunted.

They don’t have something like that at an arts festival, so we found a Dollar Store behind some vendor booths where honey bought his brush.

We sat in the shade and listed to a music group, I was sweltering in this heat and starting to feel sick. I was ready to leave.

The best thing I saw at the festival was some unique wooden folk art pieces. My cheapness genes shifted into overdrive, however, and I refused to pay the prices. “I could make that!” I declared.

On Monday I went to Hobby Lobby and bought craft paint for ten bucks and brushes for two dollars.  I was way ahead if you don’t count time spent crafting.

 I’m now on my third coat of paint and haven’t even started on the good part yet. That craft paint doesn’t cover very well.

But we had a fun time and I have a fun idea for a project — if I ever get it finished.  To tell the truth, I’m beginning to see why they charge so much for that stuff.

 Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

Posted in Crafts/Hobbies, Entertainment, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Tell Me a Story

Posted on August 7, 2022 by Sheila Moss

In East Tennessee the performance side of storytelling can be observed at The National Storytelling Festival. Usually, when I tell anyone that I am going to a storytelling festival, they say, “What is that?” We have become accustomed to getting our entertainment electronically and the tradition of telling stories would probably be lost if it were not for places that make a point of preserving the oral storytelling tradition.

In the tiny town of Jonesborough, Tennessee, the telling of stories has become an art and “tellers” are celebrities with their own entertainment circle. The National Storytelling Center is in Jonesborough and you can visit it and hear stories by resident tellers anytime, though not in the quantity you hear during a three-day, and into the night, storytelling extravaganza. It is amazing to see a person without any props other than a microphone and a stool hold thousands of people spellbound.

Some of the storytellers are musicians who are most likely performers first and then weave the music into the story they tell. Some tellers are teachers, journalists, or speakers from other fields. But some are simply “talkers.” They have a story about something that happened to them or someone they know and it is too good to keep to themselves. Because they are talkers, not writers, they choose an oral accounting of the event.

Some of the stories told are true and some not as true. Embellishment is allowed if it helps the story to be a better one. A rule of thumb is usually that it is okay to embellish as long as it is obvious that it is not true. Sometimes, however, it is difficult to tell truth from fiction. One of the favorite tricks of tellers is to start out with an honest and forthright story and when people are totally convinced, to turn the story into such an absurdity that it is obvious that the listeners have been taken in. Audiences love these “tall tales and just plain lies.”

Does your own family have a storyteller? Often an older member of the family is the “family historian” and tells stories from their own life or that of ancestors. These stories can be passed through generations and eventually become folk legends. My mother was a storyteller. She was not a public performer and her stories were more of interest to relatives than to others. I remember many stories that she told about her childhood, most of which were finally written down, but some of which went unwritten and have been lost.

It is difficult to describe large-scale story telling as it is not only the story, but the shared experience of listening and being part of the audience that makes it what it is. It is not only the entertainment, but participating in an event that is somehow bigger, or more significant than the story. We are all familiar with these phenomena as fans at sporting events, when sharing in collective worship, or when attending a concert or play. Something just makes it better when you are not the only one who appreciates it.

Because I am a writer, the sharing of my tales is done with the pen or the keyboard. That does not mean that I do not appreciate other kinds of sharing. Stories may be sad, funny, or poignant, but are always entertaining, which is why they are stories, not reports. My stories are often humorous. I don’t always intend that, but the nature of a personality comes out in how a person tells their stories. The more you share your stories the better they become as they are polished with each telling like the smoothing of a rough stone into a gem.

And this is my story about stories. Remember what they say, “Everyone has a story.” Be sure to tell yours.

Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

Posted in Entertainment, Humor, Southern Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Security Blanket

Posted on August 4, 2022 by Sheila Moss

Blue Bear is a well-chewed toy that belongs to our dog, Dixie. It was never intended to be a dog toy; it was created as a toy for a child. The dog doesn’t care. In spite of many other toys in better condition, it is Blue Bear that is loved most.

Blue Bear has endured a number of major surgeries. Every so often, it’s soft furry body yields to the dog’s sharp teeth and acrylic stuffing begins to pop out. This means finding a needle and thread and attempting to sew up Blue Bear before it falls completely to pieces.

In addition to his many close brushes with the trash can, the bear has endured the amputation of one leg. We do not know what might happen if Blue Bear ever perished. We have tried to introduce other toys like Squeaky Fox, which was a short-term favorite. But after a while, Squeaky no long squeaked and Dixie returned to her first love, Blue Bear.

Like pets, children often have security blankets that they drag around and cling to for relief of anxiety, especially at bedtime. Eventually, kids outgrow the need for this type of security and “blanky” is put away or thrown away. However, some people save the object of affection even after childhood. While they no longer sleep with it, they retain it as an object of sentiment.

As a child, my daughter had a stuffed raccoon named Wally. Eventually, Wally was loved to death. We bought a new Wally, but it was never the same as the old tattered Wally, who was carefully placed on the top shelf of the closet where his dilapidated remains could be taken out for an occasional visit.

The security blanket of cartoon character Linus was made famous in the Peanuts cartoon strip. Linus held it to his cheek and sucked his thumb, a behavior to which many people could relate. A child can become so attached to an object that when a beloved security blanket is misplaced, the child will become anxious and unable to sleep without it.

Blue Bear has been around for a long time. He was Dixie’s favorite toy when she was a tiny pup fresh from the kennel. The dog was not much bigger than the bear at that time and she would often sleep with her head on the toy like a pillow.

We gave her the toy because the pups in the kennel had stuffed toys. We thought it would help to relieve the anxiety of separation from her mother and litter. We expected it to be a short-term relationship. Little did we know that we would be sewing up a stuffed bear for years afterward.

Dixie sometimes goes without playing with the toy for weeks at a time. We lose track of it and it is lost behind furniture or in some other place where blue bears hide when they want to rest. Then one day, the dog will come bouncing into the room with Blue Bear in her mouth. We have no idea where she found it.

My mother says that when I was a child, I had a doll that I made myself from a sock. Mother says she once overheard me tell the doll, “Honey, you are so ugly I would throw you away, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” Apparently, at some point I hurt its feelings and got rid of it.

For adults, a security blanket can be almost anything, an item or something intangible that gives comfort, like religion or a relationship. Security blanket has become a synonym. But for Dixie it is simply a toy from puppyhood that cannot be replaced, even with an identical toy, as nothing else would smell, taste or feel like Blue Bear.

Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Bad Things Come in Threes

Posted on July 28, 2022 by Sheila Moss

“What happens twice, happens three times.” You’ve most likely heard this old saying. It falls in the category of superstition. I tried to look it up and found anecdotes about three celebrities who died the same week, three tornadoes happening close together, or any three other seemingly related things that happened in a short period of time.

The experts seem to think that we simply notice bad things more when they happen close together or one right after another. One mishap is simply a circumstance, two a coincidence, but three and it is a pattern. Either we do not notice a fourth occurrence or we start counting all over again.

Our mind seeks order by grouping things together. We have this, that, and the other; yesterday, today and tomorrow; before, during and after. This all seems very plausible when you read it, but why three? At my house, things do always seem to come in threes, especially broken mechanical things that need expensive fixes.

First, it was my kitchen range, barely old enough to be out of warranty. Do manufacturers plan it that way? My old range lasted 25 years before it died. This one is less than two. The oven temperature buttons no longer work — except for number 5. No problem if you want to cook something at 555 degrees. Unfortunately, there are not many things you can cook at a temperature that high. I tried it and incinerated a batch of chicken nuggets.

When looking for an authorized service center to fix the range, I found they only do warranty work. That is reassuring, isn’t it? There are so many things breaking down while under warranty that repairing them is a full time job. So, now I am looking for an appliance service that will reply to a voicemail with a call back and then actually show up to do the job. If you’ve tried it lately, you know it isn’t easy.

Secondly, there is the matter of the TV, the big screen TV that is too large to go to a repair shop. The picture and sound work fine, but the thing keeps turning itself off. Turn it back on and it plays a while and turns itself off again. Is it the satellite receiver, the remote control, or the timer on the TV? The timer is not set; using a different remote doesn’t help; and no other TV in the house is acting up, so it doesn’t seem like the receiver. A TV person is scheduled to come today.

“Bad thing do not come in threes. It’s only superstition,” I tell myself, but I feel paranoid, waiting for the clock to strike three. What else could go wrong?

Yesterday I found out. My car started making a noise. Oh, no! I tried to ignore it and hoped it would go away. It didn’t. Finally I called the car repair shop.

“My car is making a noise. I need to bring it in.”

“What kind of noise?”

“Clickity, clackity, clackity.”

“That doesn’t sound good to me.”

“Me either.”

“Bring it in tomorrow, but if the oil pressure is low, get it towed.”

“Towed…?”

Let’s see: I can’t eat. I can’t watch TV, and I can’t go anywhere. Sounds like a fun weekend coming up.

I don’t know that this proves anything about bad luck coming in threes. However, I do feel safer now. Three things have happened already so impending doom is over and gone — just like my bank account will probably be before this is over.

As far as experts who say bad luck does not actually happen three incidents at a time and we only think they do, let them come live at my house for a while.

Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

Posted in Home, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

How to Stretch Shoes

Posted on July 20, 2022 by Sheila Moss

The shoes felt fine in the store, but when I got them home, they suddenly didn’t fit. I can’t understand it. They are the same size I always wear.  A larger size would be too big. They will stretch out after I wear them a few times, I thought, but I couldn’t wear them long enough to stretch them. I found myself hobbling around or kicking them off under my desk.

So, I did what any woman facing such a dilemma would do. I hid them in the back of the closet and tried to forget about them.

Then the other day, I found the shoes. I might as well throw these away, I thought. I never wear them. But I loved the style and they were still nearly new. Maybe I will give it another try. It was not long before I remembered why I discarded them in the first place. The right shoe was biting my foot while the left shoe was pinching my big toe.

There must be a way to stretch this leather! I refuse to throw away a perfectly good pair of shoes.

I looked it up. “Use a hair dryer,” said the article. “Put on several pairs of socks and force your foot into the shoes. Then warm the leather with a hair dryer to soften it and make it stretch. If it doesn’t work the first time, do it again.”

Oh, the torture! I couldn’t tell much difference and I was getting tired of taking my socks and shoes off and on. What I need is a blow torch, not a hair dryer.

I decided to try a different method. “Fill a zip-lock bag half full of water and stuff it into the shoe. Then put the entire shoe in the freezer. When the water freezes, it will expand and stretch the shoe.” How clever! So, I filled up a couple baggies with water. What could go wrong?

The person who suggested this idea must have big feet as my water-filled baggies did not fit inside my shoes. I poured water out until it was finally small enough to fit inside. You cannot believe how hard it is to hold a water-filled baggie in one hand while zipping it with the other.

When I finished cleaning up the mess, I stuffed the baggies inside the shoes and put them in the freezer. Wonder how long it will take the chunk of ice to melt when they are done? I only hope no one finds them and cooks them for dinner.

Once again, there was not much difference. Back to the drawing board. The rest of the suggestions didn’t sound very practical. Who wants to stuff shoes with wet newspapers or pour grain inside a shoe and wet it to make it expand? I wanted to stretch shoes, not make breakfast.

Then I found, “Spray them with stretching spray.” Why didn’t someone tell me about this before? Where can I get stretching spray? Available at most shoe supply retailers, it says. What is that? Where I live, you get it at Walmart or you don’t get it.

If I can find the stuff, though, I will try it. Stretching the shoes has become an obsession. I can’t let a pair of ill-fitting shoes defeat me, can I? I only hope they do not go out of style before I can fix them.

I found the stupid spray after driving all over the stupid town. I sprayed the stupid shoes and wore them with a pair of thick socks. It worked! In fact it worked too well. Now the stupid shoes are so big I can’t keep them on my stupid feet.

Wonder if there is such a thing as shrinking spray?

I think I will do what any woman would do when facing such a dilemma, hide them in the back of the closet.

Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

 

Posted in Fashion, Humor | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

The Orange Juice Caper

Posted on July 15, 2022 by Sheila Moss


Some things are so small, so trivial that they are not worth getting upset about. But some people do not realize that. Some people get upset at the smallest hint of provocation.

“We are out of orange juice again.” says Honey.

“So? If we don’t have any orange juice, drink something else. Drink some of my juice in the 6-pack bottles.”

“If I drink that then you won’t have any juice,” he growls. “I have to go to Publix.”

It wouldn’t be so bad if we only had this conversation once in a while, but we have it two or three times a week. How much orange juice can one man drink?

“Somebody drank my orange juice,” he says, eying me suspiciously.

“Well it wasn’t me. I have my own.”

He rants for a while. “What happens to all the orange juice around here? Somebody drinks it.”

Good grief! It is only orange juice. Get over it.

I don’t want to accuse anyone, but I’m beginning to wonder if he pours it out to have an excuse to go to the grocery store. Every night, right at dinner time, he has to go to Publix.

It makes me crazy. What is it with him and Publix? It is a nice store and all, but not that nice. I swear, if I didn’t know him better, I would think he is having an affair with the cashier or something. He is at the grocery store more than he is at home.

Of course, the grocery store cashier never runs out of orange juice. Maybe that adds to her attraction.

Then one day we decide to stop at Publix on the way home from work. I really don’t like the store that much myself. I think the prices are too high. But it is the grocery closest to where we live.

“We are out of orange juice,” he says.

Where have I heard this before?

I often wait in the car when he makes his little pit stops, but this time I needed a few items too. “I think I will go inside with you.” I watch out of the corner of my eye to see if he looks like a man who is up to something.

We get inside and he heads for the orange juice. I head for whatever it is that I needed and add a few impulse items, of course. I can’t seem to go in a grocery store without spending $50. If I went as much as he does, I couldn’t pay the bills.

I finish shopping and head for the checkout counter, but I can’t find Honey. Where is that man? I’m tired. I want to go home. Then I see him at the Customer Service counter. Since when did they start selling orange juice at Customer Service?

I stomp over to the Customer Service counter with death-by-grocery-cart on my mind. “What are you doing? Hurry up!” He turns around with a handful of lottery tickets.

“Oh, you are buying lottery tickets?” Personally, I never play the lottery. I donate enough money to the state coffers when I pay taxes on groceries at check out.

“I have to have them run through the machine to see if I won,” says Honey. So, that’s what this addiction to orange juice is all about? It’s just an excuse to play the state lottery?

BUSTED!

I thought he had another love, but who would suspect it was the lottery.

Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

Posted in Food, Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

In Pursuit of a Purse

Posted on July 10, 2022 by Sheila Moss


As all ladies know, we must have a purse to haul about our “stuff.” The amount of stuff needed depends on the individual lady, but all of us need something to carry it in, whether large or small.

I once decided I didn’t need a purse. I could get by just fine with keys and a cell phone, I declared. It didn’t work out. I needed things at home and things at work, and what if I was not at either place or needed something both at home and work? You can see the problem.

My pockets and lunch bag became fuller and fuller until I finally relented and decided I needed a pocketbook, as long as it was lightweight with bare necessities inside. If I have to carry a handbag around, it might as well be a nice one, I thought. That meant buying a new purse.

Ladies will pay in the hundreds for this most important of fashion accessories. Designers turn $20 worth of leather into big bucks with only a signature or brand name. Personally, I can do without a designer purse, I decided.

I only need something functional, something functional and leather. I do like leather as it lasts longer. So, as long as it is functional, leather, and pretty, I’m okay with it — and lightweight, of course. I want something functional, leather, pretty, and lightweight. That is all I need.

I do not want to pay hundreds for a designer’s name.

I wanted a purse that would go with everything for daily use. So, I did a quick search online to see what was available as I have not shopped for purses for a while — a longer while than I want to admit.

The purse I useed was rather pitiful, made of quilted fabric. It wasn’t too bad until I decided to wash it in the washing machine. Even my daughter says it is pathetic now. I have leather purses in the closet, old ones, but I want something new, something that will make a statement.

Searching online for multi-color purses, I found some. My, gosh, they are beautiful, and leather, and functional, and light weight. The bags I found were hand-painted leather. They had flowers growing out of them, birds flying over them, peacocks spreading their tail feathers, and butterflies flitting around them. They were almost too gorgeous!

I narrowed the vast designer collection down to four hobo-style handbags and finally to two choices, Henna Rose and Flying Jewel. The prices wilted my credit card. Yes, I know I said no designer purse, but that was before I saw these. Besides, I’m not buying for the name, I rationalized, I am buying because I need a purse.

Maybe it is too gaudy? Maybe other people will think it is tacky. Another woman’s opinion might help. I’ll ask my daughter. I showed her the picture on the computer. “Oh, that’s pretty,” she said. We agreed on the Henna Rose design. “That looks like you, Mom,” she told me. I had to order it now. How could I not order it when it looks like me?

I had a $60 credit with Amazon, compliments of some promotion codes I had been saving up, so the hit would not be quite as severe if I ordered it from there. Darn the precautions, full speed ahead. I clicked the “purchase now” button and the purse will be mine in 3-5 days with free shipping.

My credit card had a nervous breakdown, but women will understand.

Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

Posted in Fashion, Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Are you Smarter than Your Smart Phone?

Posted on July 5, 2022 by Sheila Moss

I lost my phone today. . . again. I think maybe I am not smart enough to have a smart phone. I am a loser. I first missed it when I was out this morning. I always put it in my pocket so it will be handy if it rings. I dug and dug in my purse, but it wasn’t there. I was not too worried. I must have left it at home. Drat it! No checking email today or surfing the internet. It was an aggravation, but I would survive.

As soon as I got home, I looked in the pockets of the coat I wore the day before. No phone. Well, maybe I left it in my pants pockets. I searched them and all the other pants in my closet, just in case. No luck.

Call the phone! It will ring and I can find it. I called and it went straight to voicemail. Either the battery was dead or someone had turned it off. My heart sank. However, Apple devices have this neat app on them called Find My iPhone. It picks up the phone’s signal and tells you the location of your phone. I clicked Find My Phone, but it only found my iPad, the one in my hands.

Last time I lost it the app located it in the car. The car? That’s an idea. I went outside and searched the car. It wasn’t there. This time I had really lost it. Maybe someone would find it and return it? Yeah, right, someone will turn in an iPhone? Why did I have to buy a smart phone?

I’m not smart enough to have a smart phone. If it is lost, I am going to do without a phone. (I know I am telling a lie, but it makes me feel better.) Sometimes phones turn up later. We found my granddaughter’s phone behind the bed a month after it was lost. The bed? Did I look behind the bed? I looked again, also under the bed, and under the blankets, sheets and pillows.

I was starting to panic. “I lost my phone,” I told Honey.

“Is it in your purse?”

“No”

“Did you look in your coat pockets?”

“Yes”

“How about the car?”

“Yes”

He continued naming off all the places I had already looked. Sometimes something turns up where you have already looked, so I looked again. How often have I found my lost debit card in my purse right where it was the entire time it was lost?

In desperation I looked everywhere, under the sofa cushions, under my desk and even in the refrigerator. No use. I’m a loser. It’s gone!

So, I did what I always tell my kids to do. “Sit down and think back to every place you’ve been since you had it.” I looked in the bathroom where I made a pit stop, in my daughter’s room where I sat for a few minutes and talked to her. Then I had changed clothes into something more comfortable. Wait a minute. Where are those clothes?

I searched the dirty laundry, no phone. But no dirty sweat pants either. That’s odd. I’ve lost my pants too? How could I lose my pants? If I can find my pants, I can find my phone, I’ll bet. Then I remembered the hook on the back of the bathroom door where I hung them when I took a shower. I ran to check.

Yes, the phone was in the pocket. I found it!

The phone was dead as the proverbial door nail. When I put it on the charger, the alarm sounded to tell me it was found, as if I didn’t know.

And that’s the story of how I outsmarted my smart phone. . . at least this time.

Copyright 2013 Sheila Moss

Posted in Humor, Technology | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment