Murphy’s Law

True confession: over a week after New Year’s I’m finally getting all that Christmas stuff sorted out.

Way back on Boxing Day, my sailor and I enjoyed a fabulous date night. Because we had family visiting, we were able to get a room in a luxurious hotel and have a romantic staycation. (In practical terms this meant my sailor, designated driver since forever, could have a glass of wine with dinner.)

We were going through a cold snap, so I packed my good leather gloves. I wasn’t going home with my sailor the morning after, but meeting friends for lunch and some light shopping. Dressy gloves were a must have for a chilly day wandering downtown.

Of course I couldn’t find them when I looked for them in the morning. They’d magically disappeared.

After two days of freezing hands and much whining about lost gloves, I bought a new pair at Danier’s Boxing Week event. Like my lost ones, these are lined with cosy knit fabric and the leather is as soft as the inside of a Chihuahua’s ear.

Although they’re beautiful and the weather was Arctic, I was reluctant to cut the tags off and wear them. Something told me I’d find the originals once I’d rendered the new ones un-returnable.

Planning a long walk, I finally snipped the tags. As I was getting ready to leave, my overnight bag, abandoned in the bedroom, caught my eye. In a rare moment of neatness, I decided to unpack it and store it in the basement before going out.

What did I find at the bottom of my bag, under the magazine I brought to the hotel, but didn’t read? Double points if you guessed my “lost” gloves–d’oh!

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