At first, the missing objects were negligible. "I must have misplaced it..." There were the barrettes that eluded my search shortly after the acne spot treatment tube went missing, which might have piqued awareness of serial thievery had I not had suspicions that Miles had pilfered them for his own cascading locks. Not wanting to embarrass, I banished their mere existence from my mind.

Then, my lip balms began missing. I have what might be considered a multitude of lip balms. Sometimes when I'm bored and overtired, I dress the tubes in cute little Hawaiian shirts (and such) and we have a pretend luau. Erm, anyway, I have a lot of them...which, besides being ideal for a hula lesson, makes it easy to overlook the disappearance of one, maybe two...but six?

I emerged fresh from a shower one morning to find all of my combs gone...just...gone. I had last secured sight of them hours before, as they rested in an intimate gathering of three upon my dresser-top. Feeling distinctly violated, I sat naked upon the bed, my arms locked around the knees held to my chest, and rocked pitiably. These were my early days as a Wisconsinite (v.2), and I mourned the loss of my well groomed North Carolinian self.

Then came the inspired day, wherein I discovered that missing tube of acne spot treatment in the groove of the patio door...it was covered in tooth indentations. "Debbie...it was Debbie," I decided at once. Then, I read the tube ingredients and saw that it contained aloe, one of my aunt's many allergies, and I knew at once she wouldn't have risked puncturing that tube with her pointy little teeth for all the gold in Fort Knox.

"But who else likes gnawing and carrying things around between their teeth?" It was a quandary, and an insatiable one at that. I spent days staring up at the clouds, waiting for them to gather in a concise picture of my villain. And then it came, that inkling of exactly 'whodunit' that I had wanted so profoundly so that I could stop thinking nasty things about my aunt (who, although vindicated, remained the only one shady enough to take the blame).

I watched from around the corner as he put his grubby little paws all over my things. He nosed around in my cosmetic case, knocked over my mirror, and sniffed the nozzle of my perfume. I was disgusted, absolutely disgusted—first at the unapologetic desecration of my space, and second at the source. He, I knew all too well, was perhaps the most well loved of the house. A few four-letter words offered up in his name earned me the title of "blasphemer" and I was forced to sit in the corner and watch while everybody ELSE got to eat homemade apple pie. So, I seethed and simmered and stewed and sputtered and kept the ill thoughts to myself as I regarded the orange one they call Clem.



Then: retribution. Another began suffering the loss of personal property, another whose seeming measured patience really shouldn't be tested. My ally from so many times of utmost irritation had begun to emerge glorious and steadfast, and I rejoiced in my Aunt Brenda's misfortune. Quickly, I averted her gaze from Debbie, the obvious caper, and directed her to the orange monster. It was difficult to accept, naturally...that Clem should be a criminal while Debbie remained altruistic...so against the grain of past experience.

We began combing the house for his "stash" as we call it...but I am now prone to believe that he has several of them piled throughout the house. I've found neat piles of mouth-sized property beneath the bed, but haven't yet found the ambition to comb through the myriad nooks and crannies to be searched in rest of my living space.

The other night, we found the chewed-off tag from Brenda's missing finger brace resting prostrate in the center of the upstairs living room. I found bits of a soggy Burt's Bees label scattered upon the rocks of the downstairs fireplace. You know, the theft was hurtful enough on its own, but this systematic vandalism and savagery is too much...nearly too much to bear. Somewhere, there is a semi naked tube of lip balm who is missing her grass skirt. :(