Tagged for this by my Suki baby, who recently has begun twittering incessantly in French and therefore gets me all in a lather about whether my half remembered school college French will allow me to make twitter conversation with her.
Anyway, keep my apprehensions about my very rudimentary French aside, here are five things that disappear just when I need them.
1] The spouse. Guaranteed to disappear when required. Especially if we are in a store with me in a trying on infinite outfits and shopping for home linen mood.
2] The waiter at which ever restaurant I happen to be at if I want to send back the cold soup to be reheated.
3] The mobile. I have stuck my head into my bag or emptied out all the contents onto a flat soft surface more times than I care to count to find the damn ball and chain from hell.
4] Breathmints. The ones I always keep in my bag. Because I am so paranoid about bad breath, specially post a meal. And need to chew on something, even a clove to feel fit to go forth into human company without being terrified of slaying folks left right and centre with the fumes emanating from my mouth.
5] Sanitary napkins. I know I have stock in my cupboard. And will be sitting complacent in the knowledge that there is pack somewhere. And Aunty Flo will hit in all her ferocity, and I will mince my way gingerly to said cupboard to find that the brand new pack, has winged itself away to the land where the single socks from the wash congregate. Then I have to manage with makeshift contraptions, and run to the nearest chemist before I can stride out confidently again. Anyone solving the mystery of the disappearing sanitary napkin pack gets my undying gratitude and a lifetime supply of said packs.
And I pass this tag out to