He pulls the handle but the drawer jams, something stops it opening. He wiggles it a bit, pushing back and forth, trying to dislodge whatever is making the drawer too full. Eventually it sounds like something has moved, then confirmation of the fact as an item goes clunk at the back, he hears it falling and then landing, and the drawer opens freely.
Now he cannot even remember what he was looking for.
Whilst he remembers, he thinks to look for the offending item that caused such a kerfuffle in the first place. Most of the time, things that fall down the back of the drawer, end up in the cupboard below. But when he looks in the cupboard, he sees nothing untoward or out of place. He takes everything out of the cupboard and looks it over – it is all the stuff that was in there before.
He calls his wife through from the other room. Together they take all of the objects out of the drawer and lay them out on the kitchen side, separate from the items taken from the cupboard. They look at the things that are there. The items taken from the cupboard consist of appliances and large utensils, whilst the items taken from the drawer are the smaller utensils. Looking at these things all laid out on the side, they notice that some of the items in the first group are nearly the same size as items in the second group. For example, the potato masher is only slightly larger than the whisk.
They stare at the items, trying to spot something that could be considered missing from their collection.
“Didn’t we have a thing…” He uses one hand to mime holding a thing, and the other to give the impression of something moving around in a circle.
“What kind of thing, love?”
“I’m not sure. It went like round and round like that, and you use it when you make… I can’t remember what. Something. It had a blue handle. Or a red one.” The idea is on the tips of his fingers. He can almost feel it.
She scrunches up her face, trying to think of it. “I don’t think we ever had one of those… I think we just saw one in a shop,” she adds kindly. She has no idea what he is talking about.
He pulls the drawer out as far as it will go, feels around the back of it with his hand. But there seems to be nowhere else an item could go. He takes the garlic press and drops it down the back of the drawer. Sure enough, it falls in to the cupboard below.
He sighs, disappointed. They stand there, thinking, looking. She suggests they just put everything back, and at first he says he wants to look at it a bit longer but then he relents and they place everything back in the drawer and the cupboard, all neat and tidy like. He goes outside to do some gardening, hoping it will clear his head but it doesn’t and when she calls him in for dinner a few hours later, both of them are restless.
He is still unduly troubled by the whole thing, whilst she cannot shake the nagging feeling that every single one of the processes involved in preparing the dinner could somehow have been made easier with the use of just that one undefinable, unidentifiable implement.