The PlungerWe have a new neighbor two doors down.
She borrowed our toilet plunger. Three weeks ago.
After two weeks, I bought another one. "Why didn't you just ask her to give it back?" Gloria asked me.
"She's already had it for two weeks," I said. "It may have developed Stockholm Syndrome. I want a toilet plunger not currently involved in a hostage situation." So I bought another one for five dollars at Home Depot, put it in the corner of the garage, and tried to forget the brave little plunger who talked to a stranger.
On Sunday, I heard the doorbell ring. I was the only one at home and there was no way I was answering the door, because all the people I was willing to talk to were already accounted for, and none of them could be ringing the doorbell. An hour, later, I opened the door to go get the mail, and the toilet plunger was there.
Three days later, we were walking out of the house to go to dinner and she was in her front yard. "Did you get the toilet plunger?" she shouted. I nodded. "We had guests in the house and the toilet was stopped up!" she said, then went about her business.
"It's like that two-week gap never happened," I said to Gloria. "Where has she been--in stasis?"