I am holding a significant amount of useless information regarding the location of random objects in my brain right now, and my guess is that you are, too. For example, if I wanted to play Yahzee, I would go to my bathroom in search of the missing red die. It's been sitting on the windowsill there for almost a week, moved there by little hands with no apparent reason.
There's a kid's menu and coloring page from Outback Steakhouse in the back of our minivan from the night that we cashed in a gift card and celebrated nothing in particular.
A Strawberry Shortcake figurine is on the third step from the bottom of our staircase.
The Curious George sticker book is on the second shelf of our hallway closet -- on the left.
Joel's sandals are at the back door. Brooke's tennis shoes are under the kitchen table. Reese's flip flops were last kicked off on the mat at the front door. Kerrington's sneakers are in the garage.
If someone asked me where the blueberries were in the refrigerator, I'd tell them to look on the bottom shelf directly behind the strawberry yogurt. Brooke's Floppy is sitting on the bookshelf. Reese's Brown Bear is on her pillow. Kerrington's baby doll was dropped in my closet.
The receipt from my last Wal-Mart shopping trip is on the counter underneath the wall-mounted phone. The camera is on top of the computer desk. The nail clipper is on the sink in the girls' bathroom. My Burt's Bees chap stick is in my left jacket pocket.
So, given this impressive mental prowess, why is it that I never can easily find my car keys?