Sunday morning, I went for a short run. My running clothes weren’t too sweaty & stinky, so when I took a shower, I just left them on the bathroom floor because I knew I was going to wear them again on Tuesday.
At least, I thought I’d left them on the bathroom floor.
When I looked for them Tuesday morning to put them in my gym bag, they weren’t there. The shoes were there, but not the shorts, the shirt, or the sports bra. So I figured I must have put them on the floor next to the bed. But they weren’t there. I looked in the laundry hampers, thinking maybe I decided they needed to be washed after all. No luck. I looked in the wardrobe where I keep my clean running stuff. Nothing.
I found something else to wear for Tuesday, and left Chef a note that I’d lost them. When I got home, he said he didn’t know where they were either. I started looking again, with Chef helping. We looked under beds and chairs and couches and dressers. I even looked under the bathtub. I looked in the toy box and in drawers and rooms and closets that didn’t make any sense, but I looked there anyway.
Finally, out of desperation, I called my sister-in-law. Her family had been at our house for dinner Monday and I thought that maybe her boys were playing upstairs and moved the clothes. It seemed terribly unlikely, but I couldn’t think what else might have happened. But no, her boys hadn’t even gone upstairs.
I knew that had been a long shot, but now what? The dogs wouldn’t have moved them — and if they had, they would not have moved all three pieces of clothing and they couldn’t have put them someplace where I couldn’t find them.
It was ridiculous. Frustrating. Where were my running clothes?
Finally, it was time for bed on Tuesday night. Randomly, I picked up a pair of Chef’s shorts that were lying on top of the trunk that sits at the foot of our bed.
And there were my running clothes, where I suspect they’d been sniggering at me the whole time.