Come Home Cordless Phone

I have been holding off posting this for a few weeks. As I have said before, like all husbands occasionally I need to run my tin mug back and forth along the bars of my cell. I know I'm just sounding off, and no matter how much noise I make, I'm still in jail. Here goes then. Can someone please tell me WHERE'S THE DAMN BEDROOM PHONE?

A month or so back, in my wisdom, I decided to bring one of the cordless phones from downstairs into our bedroom. Our bedroom phone had finally given up the ghost after being dropped on the tiled floor one too many times (blackwifeo has a habit of answering the phone, thinking that the untwisting cord faeries have come along in the night and straightened out the horrible knot in the phone cord). That phone finally decided that crashing to the floor every time it was answered was just not in its job description. So we lived without a phone in the bedroom for a while. It's hard enough to find blackwifeo when I need her, she's one of those, loosely attached to her cellphone, people. Her cell is always at home when she's out, or downstairs when she's resting, or in the car, or at her mother's, or off. So I though I had reached the perfect solution. I took one of the cordless phones, the one from blacknewphewo's room, and moved it and its base into our bedroom.

All was wonderful for two or three days. Then the cordless started visiting its old friends in other parts of the house. Often it was found chatting with the bread machine in the kitchen. It went on a field trip in the car one day. It was particularly fond of laying out on the porch swing warming itself in the noonday sun. Still, from time to time it could be found laying quietly on its base recharging its tired battery, waiting for a chance to be of service.

Then one day a few weeks back our bedroom was "rearranged". This happens pretty often. Its god's (and my wife's) way of keeping me flexible and practiced in having cheese moved. I came back from work to find the normally stacked surfaces of our bedroom starkly naked. No books. No papers. No potions and lotions. And no cordless phone. Its vanished. Maybe it could not bare the order. But, never fear, its not lost yet, we haven't yet started looking.

So cordless phone, if you are reading this, please come home. I miss you. We promise to keep you whole and not subject you to the duct taped back your twin downstairs has had to suffer (his battery cover mysteriously vanished). We will answer your calls promptly and recharge you on time. We need you. Come home.