No, we’ve all had days when you start to wonder if you’ve accidentally entangled a pair of scissors on your bag and then dropped then on a rainy town centre pavement, surely?
I mean it can’t just be me?
I went to mum’s today, with the offer of doing things to the pond as the pump is non-functional due to some sort of matter being stuck in it. Luckily heavy rain prevented any sort of pond pump action, so I dodged that particular horror story for now.
But I did have the mystery of the suddenly appearing scissors to contend with.
Now, the scissors in question had a black handle with grey inlay. I know we possess a pair of scissors that match the description but it is my belief that these scissors reside in the shed somewhere, are filthy and don’t really work to do anything other than chew through things we want to cut.
But I can’t help wondering if those scissors, mysteriously in the middle of a deserted pavement in round about the area I walked, were ours.
I mean, they can’t have been. The chance of me, to start with, getting scissors caught in my bag somehow is quite small. But then those scissors would have had to survive two bus rides and countless instances of my rucksack being taken on and off my shoulder as I filled it with bottles of water and salted caramel cookies and things of that nature.
But, equally, you’d have thought – as I walked more-or-less where the scissors were just moments before spotting them – that I would have seen them as I passed. They were quite easy to pick out. They stood out, as you’d expect, on the pavement.
I know they stood out because a bus pulled up and an old man got off and spotted them immediately. And, as old men are prone to do, he immediately started poking at it with his walking stick in a style not dissimilar to one you’d use to fend off a dog which was getting a bit close to your personal space.
And, possibly, because he was wondering if he had somehow dropped a pair of scissors as he got off the bus.
I mean, it happens to everyone, right?