The Big Move: That #$%&*@! Box

Since the day we moved in, hubby and I have searched for one particular box. We knew a few things about it, like the moving company packed it and forgot to label it. It is a large box, and it has everything we have looked for around here.  Once I got to unpacking that box, we would have our checkbook, postage stamps, scissors, cameras,  flashlight(s), extra keys, and a lot of  other miscellaneous crap that hubby can’t stand to throw away for some reason.

I am perturbed that I did not pack that box myself. And further perturbed that hubby keeps implying that I am not looking hard enough, and it must be in the little room next to the master bedroom. He says this because there is a mountain of boxes still in there I have not unpacked. I keep telling him that most of them are full of heavy stuff that goes in the garage or his shop, yet he leaves them there, in my way of getting to boxes that belong in there so I can unpack them.

At least once a day, hubby asks me “Found the <insert whatever> yet?”

I reply, “Nope.”

“It’s in that  #$%&*@!  box,” we tell each other.

The box is here.

Somewhere among us.