The night was clear, a light breeze was blowing outside, people were arriving home after work. Everyone went about their evening with no hint of the mystery that was about to unfold in my house.
The kitchen light was the only light on in the house. The TV, also on, was showing an old episode of If You Are The One.
I was in the kitchen, where I had procured the services of the toaster to turn my wonderfully fresh slice of bread into a piece of stale, cooked gluten goodness with butter & honey.
If mum could see me now she wouldn’t be impressed, I was heading to the lounge to eat toast without a plate!
That’s when it happened, I sneezed! Not just once, but a group of 3 in quick succession.
It was during the episode of involuntary body explosion that the piece of toast in my hand went flying somewhere.
When I came back from the grip of blergh, the toast was missing, gone! It was not on the floor, the kitchen bench or a lounge chair. Where had it gone? Was it scared of the sneeze?
Like a CSI, I scoured the house with my phone flashlight. I was stumped. It was nowhere to be found. I consulted Twitter for help, I shared a picture of the kitchen.
It was in that photo that I found it. Hiding, between a comically large bottle of beer & wine for protection. The relief I felt at finding it before my housemate did was huge. I could just imagine her walking in & saying “Why is there a piece of toast on the ceiling?”
I won that night. I solved it.