Household Worm Holes

Have you ever wondered where certain items in your house go? Have you ever put something down only to reach for it a few hours later and grasp a clean countertop? Have you ever lost so many things that you bought replacements and then quickly found a hidden cache in some random but obvious spot? And though occasionally an assortment of items go missing, it is usually one item that seems to pull the disappearing act most often. In my case, it's the bobby pins.

It starts like this:

I get sick of some hair style I'm wearing and take out my bobby pins. They get left on the kitchen table, the bathroom counter, the bowl that holds the keys or occasionally Jarom's change drawer in his car. A few hours later I go to reach for the said bobby pins only to discover they have been moved.

"Jarom," I say perplexed, "I can't find my bobby pins. Have you taken them?"
To which Jarom shoots me a look that says, "Yes. I decided to try a new updo on my shaved head but got so frustrated that I twisted them into random shapes which I then glued to a canvas, painted over in neon acrylics and sold to a posh art gallary in San Francisco... In other words, No, why would I move your bobby pins?"
Right. Of course.

For the next few months I search our apartment as the pins continue to go missing, eventually resorting to buying a set of 72 new ones. Those of course go missing as well.

So here is my theory:

The bobby pins are actually sucked into a worm hole that travels around the world a few times, briefly returning in groups of four under my couch, into the bottom of my purse and infrequently scattered amongst my cosmetics, although I know I didn't place them there myself. The problem is these bursts of paranormal exposure occur when I am looking for another item and do not need the pins, by the time I need them they are back in the worm hole and traveling across some far distant universes.

If they do return, all 72 suddenly reappear in near vicinity of the shiny new ones causing me to wonder how I missed them in the first place. Or, if I'm no longer living their the next owner of the apartment will discover to their dismay about 72 brown bobby pins scattered in their sock drawer which of course is where the worm hole ends...

I'm still waiting on the delivery.