On Monday morning as I was getting ready to head out the door to work, I went to grab my mittens.
There was only one mitten on the table.
That night, I checked more carefully. Did it drop out in the car and get kicked under a seat? Is it in my work bag? Have I worn a different coat recently? How many times can I check the same coat pockets before it becomes obsessive behavior?
It was gone.
On Tuesday, Andrew, because he is a saint, went to Target after work and looked through their lost and found. He walked the pond I'd walked around on Saturday, diligently searching.
It was gone.
I told myself the usual things: It's just a mitten. I knit it and loved it, but I love to knit and can make another pair. I'm planning to knit a pair for my Knitsonik project anyway. It's fine.
Lies, all, but what else could I do?
This morning, I was walking Dexter and looked down. My mitten! I brushed the salt, leaves, and bit of snow off it, and this weekend it will get a proper bath. (That didn't stop me from wearing it this morning though.)
It was on the edge of the road. I'd walked right over it more than once this week but never saw it. I know why. My brain is filled with Knitsonik information, and when I look at this:
I definitely see this.
It was hiding in plain sight.