Momnesia

Scott and I have another ongoing argument that goes something like this:
“Where’s the phone?”
“I dunno. You had it last.”
“No, I didn’t. You did. Where did you leave it?”

The phone is in the bedroom and we freaking never hear it ring. So every time we do hear it ring, given that we never know where it is, it unleashes a frantic search for the stupid thing. Tonight, I was playing with the baby and Scott went looking for it by pushing the page button and wandering around triangulating the position. He returned, palms up, in a gesture of bewilderment.

“I can’t find it.”
“Where did you leave it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you check the back porch?”
“I just looked there.”
“The kitchen.”
“Nope.”

He rifles through the couch cushions as I go into the bedroom to see who left a message. The phone is sitting on the base.

“Scott!”
“What?”
“What the fuck is this?”
He stares at it.
“Seriously, Scott, what the fuck is this? Right here? Right here on the base? What is it?”
“I am an idiot.”
“No, really, this rectangular phone-shaped item here: what is it?”
“Come on.”
“I’m just wondering.”
“Oh, shut up.”