Hypocrisy

          My husband has a habit of misplacing things.  I think this is a husband thing rather than just a my husband thing.  There is some research study somewhere that would corroborate this.  It is, if not a daily, at least a weekly occurrence; something becomes lost.  Or, as he would say it, not lost, just not in the place he expected it to be.  Nine times out of ten I usually know where it is.  And I will admit, if searching for said lost item causes us to be late, I maybe, kinda, sorta yell at him for it.  Well, maybe not yell, maybe just strongly encourage in a forcible tone to not do this again.  Wondering what the point of this post is?  Not to rag on my husband, I assure you.  Here is the gem: 

A few days ago we were leaving for a trip and needed the handy dandy Garmin.  What's that you say? Paper maps?  I do not know this thing of which you speak.  Nope, we are high tech and new-fangled and use E-lec-o-tronics to navigate this wacky world.  But could this amazing aperture of navigational prowess be found?  Of course not.  Were we running late? Of course.  Was it all my husband's fault? Naturally.

Then I found it.  In a purse.  In the closet.  Oh, yeah, I remember now.  I put it in there for ease of find-ability.  I just happened to forget.  And then it wasn't where I expected it to be.  I sheepishly returned to the car with found object.  And yes, I told him it was I who had misplaced it.  The only thing my husband said to me?  "Yell at yourself! Yell at yourself!"