About 36 hours ago, I was getting the kids ready for a bath. For reasons I won’t get into here, there was a half-peeled, half-eaten banana in my ensuite bathroom. Our toddler, Carter, found it and showed me what he found. In what I now recognize as a momentary lapse in judgement, I told him, “Take it to Mommy!”, and he dilligently toddled off.
Only a couple of minutes later did I realize that I had just unleashed a toddler with a banana on the house, and went to check his progress on his mission. I found him on the same level of the house, but without the banana. Uh oh.
While I bathed the boys Isabelle took it on herself to launch a comprehensive search for the AWOL banana. She spent at least 20 minutes searching everywhere – drawers, hampers, under beds, in closets, garbage pails – all to no avail. The search was expanded to the attic and the main floor, but everyone came up empty.
Last night Jannette and I formed another search party and again scoured the second floor. Cupboards, toilets, washer and dryer, piles of clothes and toys, everything was checked. Nothing. The banana has joined Jimmy Hoffa.
So, thanks to my brain fade, we’ve got a fruit bomb somewhere in the house, unless Carter somehow flushed it down a toilet without anyone noticing. I think it’s still around somewhere. I can only hope that it dessicates before it becomes a fruit fly buffet/orgy.