A True Story of Tuna Salad

On Saturday I pulled some tuna salad out of the fridge to have for lunch.  I didn't have a particular craving for tuna salad, I just figured someone should eat it, so it might as well be me.  Luke was wandering around, as he does, and getting in to things, as he does, but I ignored it, as I do.

A few minutes later, the kids' lunches were prepared and I started getting ready to make my lunch, except I couldn't find the container of tuna salad.  It was then that I vaguely remembered Luke holding it, so I quickly broadened my search from the refrigerator and counters to the entire house.

 I did a quick walk-through of the upstairs before I called Ben, who'd left as we started getting lunch ready.  

"Did you see Luke walk off with the tuna salad?"

"Yeah I remember him having it."

"Did you see where he put it?"

"No.  Sorry."

So I looked.  And looked.  And looked.  No tuna salad in the kitchen.  No tuna salad in the family room.  No tuna salad in the living room.  Or the bedroom.  Or the bathroom.  Or the laundry room.  Or anywhere in the basement.

Man.  That kid is good.

At some point during the process of walking over the entire house multiple times, my desire for tuna salad had gone from practically-nonexistent to uber-intense.  I HAD to have tuna salad.  WHERE WAS IT?!?!

30 minutes or so later, I hung my head in shame as I made myself a peanut butter sandwich.  I'd been beat.  By an 18-month old.

A few hours later I found the container of tuna salad on the floor of my room... behind the bedroom door.  Shoot.  I didn't think to look there.

Well played, Luke.