The cluelessness of the Wombat

I’m home from a night at work, watching the rerun of last night’s darts championship coverage, and the Wombat & Daughter-Dear have gone into town for last-minute Xmas shopping.

The phone rang a few minutes ago. Wombat: “My watch has fallen off somewhere. When you go to bed could you check it for the watch? I can’t think of anywhere else it could have come off except in bed.”

It’s a cordless phone, it was a gap between darts matches, and so I went straight upstairs and checked the bed. No watch.

“Oh,” said the Wombat. “Where else could it be? It must be near the bed on my side. Unless it came off when I was scraping ice off the car.”

The watch is one I bought her as a birthday present and it’s pretty special. Incredibly slim and rather beautiful. Definitely not something either of us would be happy about losing. I was about to head off outside to look at the space where the car had been when the Wombat said “I’ve found it. Daughter-Dear's just pointed out that I’m wearing it.”

I asked her how she could lose a watch she was wearing.

She replied “I was looking on the wrong wrist.”