So this crazy thing happens in my house whenever we get close to holidays or birthdays or any event that might possibly mandate a gift: I hide the special presents. But wait. Not just any hiding spot. No. A really amazing and fabulous hiding spot. I put presents in spots so secret, so divine, that it takes a map and possibly a few glasses of Chardonnay to relocate the “hidden” (read: lost forever) item.
As you can imagine, this is a tad bit frustrating when the time comes to produce said item:
The Husband: (calling out 10 minutes after we should have already left) Sweetie! You need to get Lani’s gift! We gotta go! We’re late!
Duh. I already know that. What I don’t know is which of my 50 million special secret spots did I hide Lani’s gift? (Let’s be honest here: it was a Borders gift card. Was I really that worried that my small children would stumble upon it and get themselves to the mall to spend it, or better yet, log on to the computer and order a couple books?).
Okay, so it could be under the mattress. Nope. In The Husband’s closet on the top shelf? Wrong again. In the boys’ bedroom, behind the bookcase? No (but wow—found my sister’s birthday gift I meant to give her last year).
Clearly, I am not hiding the special item in question from a random burglar or from my two precocious sons or even from The Husband; no.
I am obviously hiding the gift from myself (if I could just be considerate enough to give self a small clue as to where the item might be hidden this time).