I struggled to nod off last night. I felt like Sherlock Holmes, unable to sleep as I was ruminating on a mystery I simply couldn't solve (..I've been watching a lot of Elementary of late...).
I was stressed out and completely baffled at the fact that when I got into bed and slid my arm in between my pillows, my fist closed around a single pair of my own pants. Now, I don't generally store my underpants under my pillow, or in any other kind of furniture other than a chest of drawers (drawers for my drawers), and I can't think of any logical reason as to why they would be nestling where I lay my head at night. No sane person wants to wake up with their face buried in their own kecks.
My mind ran over as many possibilities as it could conjure up, which weren't many, as it and I had been up early for a full day's work and now we both now badly needed to rest after a good couple of hours trying to keep up with the story line in Prison Break (Scylla is good now?? Actually, don't tell me, I want to find out for myself, even if I am years behind that rest of the world who have already seen it). Because I was hell bent on getting to the bottom of the mystery of the sleepy knickers (ha, to the bottom! I didn't even do that on purpose... lulz), my brain did what it usually does when it's required to do something it doesn't feel like doing - it went into snarky bitch mode. Here are the suggestions it so helpfully threw up for me:
- The underpants gnomes from South Park are real.
- A has now taken to sniffing ladies' undergarments during his lie-ins.
- This particular pair of pants was being bullied by the rest of the underwear in my chest of drawers and decided to run away somewhere safe.
- I put them there one day, just incase we get robbed by someone who values underthings over technology and cash.
- I accidentally left them there, thinking I was putting them away somewhere else.
I'll be honest, the latter is the most likely explanation. Just this week, I tried to put a customer's documents in the dish washer at work, and I have an inexplicable habit of automatically trying to put cartons of milk in the washing machine and laundry in the bin.
I wish I could say that I do these things because my mind is on a higher plane, dealing with bigger issues, but the honest truth is that I'm usually just thinking about food and funny pictures of cats I've seen. That, and I'm prematurely losing my memory. The only thing that will make me feel better about my receding cognitive ability right now would be some amusing cat-based pictures and a snack.
(Image borrowed from...several sources on Tumblr...Tumblr loves a cat sandwich!)