The remote was HERE. I put it HERE. Nobody touched it. And yet — gone. Vanished. Into the same dimension as the socks, probably.
We turn the whole living room upside down. Cushions fly. Accusations fly. And then some small human pulls it out of — I kid you not — the cereal box.
THE CEREAL BOX.
Porch. Exhale. Tomorrow I'm getting a remote the size of a dinner plate. Bright orange. Impossible to lose. Watch them lose it.
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