What did you do with my snippers?

Alright, can we talk about something that should be simple, but somehow isn’t?

Husbands in the garden. (A fitting Father's Day topic, am I right?)

Because the second my husband touches a tool, that tool doesn’t “get used.” It gets adopted. By a different dimension. By the shed, the universe or possibly a squirrel who thinks it's some kind of holy acorn. And it is never where I can find it when I need it. Kind of like the sock that always goes AWOL between the laundry basket and the dryer. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind that he’s helping. I love that he’s trying.

But here’s the thing: He never puts the gardening tools away.

He’ll be like:

“OK, I’m done for now!”

Great! Put everything back where you found it. He agrees, but somehow I know that will not happen. He leaves the shovel in the flower bed like it’s a lawn ornament, just standing there like, “Don’t mind me, I’m part of the landscaping now.” And I’m the one who has to deal with it later like an archaeologist in my own yard going, “Why is the shovel in the hydrangeas?” Then, of course, I need a tool. The one tool. The tool that matters.

I ask, “Where are my snippers?” And he goes, without looking up, “They were right there.” Right there. Like in the same spot as my will to live?

I search:

• Under the potting table

• Behind the lawn mower

• Inside the trash can for some reason

• And eventually I find them…

...Just sitting there. Like they were on a spiritual journey.

And the best part? When I finally find them, they are in the most disrespectful location imaginable — like:

• In the raised bed

• Next to the grill

• Or somehow inside a bag of mulch like they took a vacation.

  
  

The frustrating part is that I don’t even need all the tools. I need one. One pair of snippers. But when I’m searching, it’s never just that I am “missing one thing.”

It’s always, the tool I need is gone, but five other tools are somehow exactly where I don’t want them. It’s like the gardening universe is saying, “Oh, you wanted snippers? That’s cute. I have a hedge trimmer though. Enjoy!” Meanwhile, the thing you need is doing long-term storage in some random place which only he can find.

So now I’ve started using strategy. And before anyone says it, I’m not mad — I'm organizing. I'll say, “If you take something out, you put it back in the same spot.”

To which, he responds, “OK, but I always do.” Hmm… Is that so? Either way, I concede. Two minutes later there’s a rake in the roses. But listen, I’m learning. I don’t want to sound like a broken record. I want to remain calm.

So, I’ve started asking him questions like I am interviewing a witness:

“Where did you put the snippers?” And he’ll answer with confidence, “I left them where I was working.” Oh, was that in the garden? Or in the "Twilight Zone?"

So, no, I don’t think husbands are trying to be difficult; it is not in their DNA.

They’re just wildly committed to the concept that putting tools away is optional — just like reading instructions or asking for directions. And every time I can’t find something, I realize that it’s not missing.

It’s just moved on.

Like the sock that decided to start a new life.

Anyway — if you need me, I’ll be outside searching for my snippers. Again.

While my husband is inside, confidently telling me, “Calm down, they will probably turn up.”

Thanks, honey.