There is a weekly ritual in the Parrot household. It’s called Hunt the Choir Book. You see, every Thursday Mrs P heads off to warble with some of her mates — we Parrots can be quite tuneful, you know. And they’re not half bad and have been engaged to sing at weddings and old folks’ homes, as previously mentioned.
Anyway, membership of the choir involves custodianship of an A5 ringbinder to hold the words and music. And every week, Mrs P returns home, takes the binder of her bag, puts it down and completely forgets where.
So every week, as she prepares to leave, she asks, “Anyone seen my choir folder?” And every week me and the Parrots minor go in search. Upstairs in the bedroom? Nope. Downstairs in the living and dining rooms? Nope. Downstairs again in the cellar? Yeah, right.
It must be our years of marriage, but it’s usually me that finds it because I know where not to look, ie the obvious places. If I’ve learned one thing about Mrs P it’s that she never leaves anything where it should be. She hides things in plain sight, be it glasses, keys, purse or choir folder.
Tonight it was propped up against the kitchen tiles, next to the microwave. Just to ensure its anonymity, its plain black back faced outwards, rather than the white cover we were all searching for.
Ah well, Mrs P has left, the choir has a full complement and the rest of us can get up to what we had been getting up to half-an-hour ago. Like wondering what to blog about. Mrs P never lets me down.
So I’ll leave you with this thought: why doesn’t the Blogger spellchecker recognise the word blog or blogger for that matter?