Morning mystery

Yesterday morning after waking up I reached my right hand out of under the cover and pressed 13 on the remote control as usual. CNN started to blast the morning news. I went about my morning routine:


get up, boil water, make coffee, steam, smell,
jump in shower, soap, dry,
choose clothes, 15 minutes wasted in front of wardrobe,
keep an eye and an ear on the news,
sit down, toast pops out, spread Marmite, crunch, crunch, drink, burn tongue,
flick between 23 (MTV), 30 (BBC), 7 (Hungarian News) back to 13 (CNN),
Marmite top screws back, margarine lid closes,
open fridge, place things on shelf,
brush teeth, comb, perfect make-up, last look in mirror,
shoes, keys, switch off TV...

And here I stopped. The remote control disappeared. I put myself in reverse mode and searched the bathroom. The wardrobe. Kitchen table. Bed. Bedside table. Nothing. Then I spotted something strange. The Marmite grinning its black smile at me from the middle of the kitchen table. It never made it to the fridge. I approached it, slowly and carefully. It smiled cheekily. I opened the big white door. And there it was, shivering and scared: the remote control lying on the shelf next to the milk and the broccoli.


I gently took it out, placed it on my pillow, grabbed the fighting Marmite jar with both hands and squeezed it to the safety of the side shelf between a box of cheese and some eggs. I have never spotted who does these things to me, who steals half of my socks, hides my keys, swaps my mobile phone with the stereo control in my bag but they certainly do a very good job. I think I should consider hiring a private detective to put an end to my misery.