Honestly, I cannot figure out for the life of me where in the heck all our scissors go. We have two orange-handled scissors; one in the office and one in the kitchen. We even have a pair of black-handled “kitchen” scissors for dismantling whole chickens and such, and there are two pairs of red-handled scissors downstairs in the Crankee Yankee’s domain.
However, when I need scissors, I can’t find one single pair! Now that Spring is here to stay, the Crankee Yankee is busy making screens for the back porch and of course is using the orange-handled kitchen pair to cut them. When I asked him why he couldn’t just bring up one of HIS scissors from downstairs, he looked at me as if I had bats flying out of my ears and said, “but these were handy.” Sigh.
I wouldn’t mind so much if I could give up the pretense that each time I need to cut something, that the scissors I have so carefully put in the kitchen and office would still be there. But no. The same goes for the scissors downstairs. When doing the laundry I often find clothes or towels that need loose threads trimmed. So of course I look for the red-handled scissors I know “live” down there. But no–they are either out on the front porch or wandering aimlessly around the garage. The last time that happened, I had to resort to cutting threads with one of those pink plastic safety razors.
You see, I lived alone for many years, and learned that it was far easier to follow the “don’t put it down, put it AWAY” motto. So I’m used to having things in specific spots. This year will mark 13 years that the Crankee Yankee and I have been married, and my reliable old system just doesn’t mesh with the Crankee Yankee’s free-wheeling pick-up-whatever-you-want-and-don’t-necessarily-put-it-back habit. I spend a good part of my life asking things like “where are the orange-handled scissors that belong in the blue pottery crock on the left of the stove?” or “where is the pen I left hanging from the refrigerator magnet near the shopping list?” or “where did you leave the cover for the big frying pan?” And so on.
Like a gypsy in the night, the Crankee Yankee just seems to spirit these things away from their rightful places and I can’t seem to break him of it. It’s always “I’m only going to use <insert item I’m looking for here> it for a minute,” or “Oh, I left that in the car under the drivers’ seat–I think.” And it doesn’t do a bit of good for me to just buy more items; they, too go missing in no time flat.
I guess I am going to have to design a tool belt just for him. He already owns a few regular tool belts, but the one I have in mind will be wired up to administer a mild electric shock when scissors and such are not put back where they belong.
Anyone know of a good (and cheap) electrician?