My Brain's GPS Needs an Update

Sarah was having one of *those* mornings. The kind where the universe seemed to have a personal vendetta against her ability to leave the house on time. First, her toast committed hari-kari into the toaster abyss. Then, her cat, Mittens, decided a hairball exhibition was precisely what the kitchen rug needed. But the true masterpiece of morning mayhem was her phone. It was gone.

A full-blown archaeological dig ensued. Couch cushions were flung, the fridge was checked (just in case, okay?), and she even peered into the laundry basket, convinced the lint trap had developed a sinister, electronic appetite. Sweat beaded on her brow. How could a device so integral to modern existence vanish without a trace? Her appointment was in ten minutes. Panic gnawed.

"WHERE ARE YOU, YOU METAL RECTANGLE OF COMMUNICATION?!" she shrieked, earning a judgmental blink from Mittens. The cat, clearly, was unimpressed by human frailty.

Just as Sarah was about to declare her apartment a Bermuda Triangle for electronics, she reached for her mug of lukewarm coffee. And there it was. Nestled snugly in the 'cup holder' of her jogging stroller, which had been parked in the hallway for the last three days since her *last* failed attempt at a morning run. It had been acting as a temporary catch-all for sunglasses, keys, and apparently, her entirely misplaced sense of urgency.

She stared at it, then at Mittens, who seemed to be smirking. Sarah sighed, grabbed the phone, and mumbled, "Well, at least I know where I *won't* be looking next time."