Everything in its Place

Where are the scissors? she asked.

She had her finger pressing down on the wrapping paper and at that very moment needed to cut it off from the roll. She looked around her, expecting to find them on the table.

I put them away, I said. I have this bad habit of putting wrapping stuff away continually while the wrapping is still going on.

And I pulled the red-handled scissors out of a drawer in the kitchen.

Were those in the drawer? she asked when I handed them to her.

Yes. I put them there.

Oh no. Those don't go in the drawer. Those are the dry sink scissors. They go right here.

Everything in its place.

...

What would I do without her?

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