"Where Did I Put That"

Welcome to another thrilling episode of "Where Did I Put That?" Today’s story involves a menopausal detective, a missing remote control, and a family trying to avoid a household-wide freak-out. 

So it goes like this  A serene Bank Hoildsy  morning, birds chirping outside, the sun is actually out ! and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. All is calm until... Duff, duff DUFF!

The TV remote is missing. Again. For the second time in two days. And the prime suspect? Yours truly, the menopausal antique with brain fog thicker than the London mist.

I swear, it's like the remote has developed a sentient mind of its own and decided to play a game of hide-and-seek. Or maybe it's hanging out with those elusive odd socks that vanish into the black hole behind the dryer.

So, there I was, minding my own business, trying to remember what day it was, when my husband approached me like zookeepers trying not to spook a cornered lioness. "LOVE" he said, with all the caution of bomb disposal experts, "do you remember where you put the remote?"

Cue the blank stare. I didn't even remember watching TV last night, let alone turning it off. My brain's memory department had clocked out early. The scene was like a bad soap opera where the amnesiac character has to piece together the events of the previous night.

We all scoured the house. Cushions were overturned, drawers rifled through, even the Dog was given a suspicious glance. The whole scene was akin to a treasure hunt organised by a particularly mischievous poltergeist. 

And then, as if on cue, my husband found the first lost remote in the fridge. The fridge! Who does that? I can only assume I must have been mid-hot flash and decided the remote needed cooling down as much as I did. It’s like my brain is running on Windows 95 while the rest of the world has moved on to the latest 365.

But did that solve the problem? Nope. Because now we have one remote and the memory of the other, somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle of household items.

In the end, all we can do is laugh. "Keep calm and carry on," they say. Words to live by, especially when your brain feels like it’s running on dial-up in a high-speed world. So if you’re ever in my shoes – or in this case, slippers – don’t panic. The remotes, like all lost things, will eventually turn up. Probably in the freezer next to the ice cream, because, why not?

So, stay tuned for our next episode: "The Mystery of the Missing Keys." Spoiler alert: they’ll be in the microwave. 

Until then, happy hunting and may your remotes always be within reach!