It started the other day. I reached for my sandwich and encountered a frozen sirloin steak. On my desk. Where my sandwich ought to be. I picked up the frozen beef, took it to the kitchen, and showed it to Garry.
“Why,” I asked him, “Do I have a frozen steak to my office?”
“I have no idea,” he said, “Offhand? I’d guess you took it out of the freezer and put it there yourself. Or the pixies are at it again. Maybe the dogs did it. They look guilty to me.”
“I think they are trying to sucker you out of another round of treats,” I commented. But that was a safe bet as they are always on the prowl.
I never got to the bottom of the steak mystery. If something shows up completely out-of-place, it’s usually because I meant to grab one thing, but instead, grabbed another. In this case, I also had my coffee and a sandwich, so how could I have transported one more thing. No spare hand. Two is my maximum.
A frozen sirloin is not the sort of thing I typically have lying around. I would must have made a special effort to get to it. Which is to say I’d have had to extract the slab of beef from the freezer.
I assume — unless someone out there has a better explanation — I was intending to put it in the fridge to defrost, but I got distracted. However, I don’t remember taking it out of the freezer in the first place. No idea what I had in mind. Perhaps I was planning to eat it frozen and raw. Anything is possible.
Forgetfulness is my constant companion and I accept it … but what about the frozen steak?
Should I feel threatened by this unexplained meaty appearance?