I think I might be the champ here.
Some years ago, Christmas was coming up fast, and I was fully into my annual sewing frenzy. Pattern pieces and fabric pieces were stacked and lying everywhere in my sewing room/extra bedroom, which--- since we were renting a house without garage-- had a fair amount of camping gear and tools stowed in it, as well. But I knew where everything was, which was what mattered, it seemed to me, and this was no different from any other year.
Well, seeing as how it was the holiday season, an enterprising thief jimmied the window of our personal bedroom (a fairly neat room, I might add) and stole one of DH’s expensive, custom-made art knives from the chest of drawers. Considering its worth, we called the police, and they sent out this tall, handsome, boyish officer to do the interview.
I walked the kid, um, policeman, through the house, from the living room (not too untidy), past our son’s bedroom (obviously a child’s room), and, just ignoring the sewing room, tried lead him past it to the room where the theft had occurred. But the officer’s attention was riveted by my sewing room. He detoured right into it, making “aha!” and “tsk-tsk” noises, and when I said, “But the robber stole from the other bedroom!” he goggled a little and asked, “You mean this one looked like this before, Ma’am?”
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