On the Hunt (Forensic Files)

I picked up a sliver of wood in one of my fingers the other day while applying wood trim around a beam at my cabin.  I tried to finesse the sliver out with a needle at the cabin, but had no luck. 

No luck at home that evening, either.

Yesterday, I decided to try again at home.  But the tweezers I used a few days ago where not where I normally stow them.  Off I went on the hunt.  I wandered around my house, opening drawers, lifting papers, shoving aside this and that to find the tweezers.

I spent the better part of a quarter-hour looking.

No luck.

Frustrated, I flopped onto the sofa and watched, of all things, Forensic Files.  Almost as soon as I sat on the sofa, I realized I had misplaced my smarter-than-me-phone while looking for the tweezers.

Off I went again—storming from room to room—seeking my phone.  A few minutes later I flopped back down on the sofa with phone in hand.

On television, investigators had cracked the case.  Oldest story in the book.  A husband, in premeditated fashion, had murdered his wife and faked an automobile accident as a cover-up.

“If you guys are so smart,” I called out to the television, “why don’t you find my tweezers?  Huh?  Huh?  Where are you on that?”

—Mitchell Hegman