So, I get up this morning at the insistence of Small Dog and as I go to gather my nice warm robe around my substantial but freezing girth, I find the sash missing. It hasn’t just come out of the loop, it’s most sincerely missing. And it isn’t laying on the floor or tangled in the bedclothes.
Small dog not being in a particularly patient soul, I stumble downstairs, gripping the robe to me with one hand while portioning out kibble with the other. I then let the dogs out. And even start the coffee. And of course, I let the dogs back in.
Only then do I wander the house, assuming one of the canines has taken the sash for a good chew. I look in the dogs’ kill zone in the family room, in the laundry room, under my bed. No sash.
Daughter Two is just getting moving and asks what I’m looking for.
“The sash from my heavy robe.”
“Sorry, I have it.” Handing it out with one hand around the edge of her door, she explains, “I needed it to dress up as Thucydides.”
Is it only in my family that her answer could have made perfect sense?
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