Not Our Proudest Moment

During dinner tonight, I asked the seemingly innocuous question, "Do we have any salsa?" Christie replied, "Sure."

So off I go to the fridge to grab the salsa. It is not in its normal salsa spot. It is also, apparently, not in an abnormal salsa spot. I see no salsa. I even move things to see if the salsa might be hiding behind something. No luck. "Are you sure we have salsa?"

Chris comes stomping over to the fridge, each footstep declaring my. husband. is. such. an. iiiidiot. No salsa here. No salsa there. No salsa anywhere. She moves the very same things I had moved before. "Huh," she says. "I was sure we had salsa."

Wrigley pipes up from the table. "I'll help." She skips over, grabs the salsa (which was hiding in plain sight, literally right before our eyes), hands it to me, and skips right on back to the table.