Held Prisoner in Hampton Roads

Where is the freakin cellphone?

I'm very careful with my cellphone, but, on the very rare occasion, I put it down somewhere without thinking. I'm sure no one else does that. I'm alone in my absentmindedness.

Anyhow, a few days ago, I went to pick up my phone, and it was not on the desk where I always, carefully, faithfully, without fail, place it. It was not there. I was a bit worried, because I once had one of those handy little holsters they give us broke, and my phone fell off in the street. Luckily, an honest passerby found it and I was able to retrieve it.

I pick up the landline in the kitchen and call my cell number, waiting for the ring. Sure enough, I hear the ring in the living room. I walk into the living room, looking for the sound, but no, now it sounds like it's in the bedroom. Into the bedroom. Nothing, and the phone stops ringing. It's waiting for a message.

Hang up. Back to the kitchen. Redial. Ringing in the living room again. Back to the living room. Now I have it figured out. Its in the loft next to my computer. Up the stairs. Nothing on the computer desk. The phone stops ringing. It's waiting for another message. I doubt that a message will do me much good.

Back to the kitchen. Redial. Ringing in the living room. I look under the couch cushions, on the floor, in my coat. Nothing. The phone stops ringing. Disgusted, I sit down.

Segue and cue the television. Have you seen the commercial with the woman holding the baby with the cellphone? Every time she turns around, the phone seems to be behind her.

Yep. When I got out of my car, my cell phone was pushed around behind me. The lump in my back when I sat on the couch gave me the final clue. No wonder it always seemed to be ringing from somwhere else. I guess this is the electronic version of searching for glasses while they're perched on the top of your head.