I've decided that gnomes have moved into my basement. (No, I haven't become a Waldorf Astorian person.) They come in during the night and move things around. That infamous wok can end up under piles of things. Suitcases that were neatly stacked in Martha Stewart fashion have tumbled into a rather Courtney Love fashion. Cardboard boxes and dust bunnies reproduce at a rate that gives the bunnies that hop through my neighborhood a run for thir money. Clothes that were as fashionable as this chiquita ever gets have all of the sudden become an eyesore. Stuff from my past relationship that I was sure was happily on its way out the house to a new home has come back through the basement windows when I was out and reappear at places that catch me off guard when I'm searching for the wok. My little gnomes decide that the one serving dish that I am sure is in there will become invisible when I need it but then they move it there a day later to taunt me as I transfer a load of laundry. I think that gnomey friends are laughing from their little heads off at me right now. I'd tell you what I'm going to do with my day off but I think you know... I'm going on a gnomey hunt.