Mom, It's Broken

Where would you look for a spin-sander, if you were looking for one? I mean, if you knew you had one, and if you knew there was a shelving unit in the basement where all the tools were supposed to go... Would you look on that shelf?

And, if someone told you he’d looked everywhere and couldn’t find the spin-sander, would you assume that he’d looked on that shelf? Because that’s where I would look. To start with, anyway.

In fact, that’s where I did look. To start with and to finish. Because, you see…

Do you see? Little yellow thing, down in the bottom right hand corner? How's this:

That’s right my dearies. Spin-sander. On the shelf where it belongs. Took me all of fourteen seconds to find what Johnny turned the basement upside down in search of. I didn’t have to move or touch or even look at another thing.

Oh, but when I did move something – when I moved that red metal box which if I’m not mistaken holds a ratchet set – look what I found:

That’s right. Sand pads.

How do boys look for things? I mean, I didn’t even look, I just stood there and the damn thing jumped up and waved. What did Johnny do? Stand with his face against the wall for twenty minutes until he had to admit it wasn't right in front of him and come upstairs?

No, see the thing is – the worst of it is – I don’t even doubt he looked. I know he looked. I know for a fact that he was down there for a half an hour turning things over and swearing a blue streak. Which is why I was so thoroughly convinced the spin-sander really did do the skedaddle.

Boys.

Mom it’s broken… Mom, it’s broken… Mom it’s broken…