The Case of the Missing Underwear

After several years of marriage, Mr. Fixit and I arrived at an equitable arrangement for the available drawer space. He has three drawers in the chest of drawers; the fourth drawer is mine for stuff that I don’t want to throw away but never use. I have the three drawers in the dresser for my things. I might add that it has been years since I looked in my drawer in the chest. We have also come to a satisfactory arrangement regarding the packing of suitcases. He packs his and I pack mine.

The summer of 2006 I was literally living out of a suitcase from April to August when my brother was dying. I would make the trip and stay in a motel while there. I would only come home when circumstances demanded or when I had to get away from the horror of watching my brother suffer. I made all the trips alone except the last one when Mr. Fixit went with me.

On that last day, we checked out of the motel before the funeral. Needless to say, I was very upset, and our clothes and other belongings were thrown carelessly into suitcases and even a few Wal-Mart plastic bags. We left immediately after the funeral. The next day we unpacked, and I did laundry.

Shortly after I thought I was short a few items—underwear, to be specific. I mentioned the fact to Mr. Fixit and asked him it he had come across the items when he was unpacking. He said that he would check his luggage again to see if it had been left packed. It wasn’t mentioned again for a couple of months when I told him that I had to buy new underwear because I couldn’t find the lost items and that meant I had to do laundry more often. He hinted that since I am advancing in years and my memory isn’t what it used to be that I was merely mistaken in the number of pairs of underwear I had. He almost had me convinced that I was nuts, but I distinctly remembered a pink pair and a beige pair that were nowhere to be found.

After applying for SS benefits, I was told that they needed my birth certificate and our marriage certificate. I never had my birth certificate, and I couldn't find the marriage certificate. After instituting a top-to-bottom search of the house for the missing marriage certificate, I opened the third drawer in the chest with some of my old things. There to my surprise I found the missing underwear.

“There’s my missing underwear! I knew I wasn’t crazy. You put them in there!” I accused.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “You just don’t remember that you put it in there.”

“I may forget where I put the marriage certificate; I may forget where I put the car keys; I may forget to take my meds; I may forget to change my shoes, but I have never forgotten where I put my underwear!”