My Kitchen Might Be A Gateway To An Alternate Universe: UPDATED

Anyone who knows me at all is aware my one greatest fear in life is Alzheimer's Disease. I could deal with anything else, I believe, but not the loss of my cognitive function. Should I ever be diagnosed, in one of my increasingly less-frequent lucid moments, I would go for a long hike deep in grizzly country with my pockets full of bacon and Snickers.

And I'm only kidding a little bit.

I read. I write (and some would say rather well). I actually proofread novels for other writers. I can focus on complex craft patterns and follow the plot of True Blood. I'm capable of carrying on intelligent conversations, though I do prefer to avoid interaction with Others.

But those random "senior" or "stupid chick" moments tend to rattle me.

Today, a case in point.

I have a tiny walk-through kitchen, which - surprisingly - is relatively clean today. Follow the process with me, and see if you can tell me where it all went horribly wrong.

I'm hungry. I want a sandwich. I meander the whole six or seven steps between Sofur and kitchen. I get a small plate from the dishwasher and a knife from the silverware drawer and sit them on the counter by the coffee maker. I go to the pantry at the end of the kitchen and get one of three remaining buns, which I carry over and place on the plate. I turn around (small kitchen, remember) and retrieve deli chicken breast, Swiss cheese, and mayonnaise from the refrigerator. I place these items on the counter beside the plate.

With me so far? I figured. Even I'm not lost yet. It's not neurosurgery.

At this point, the dogs have arrived, because they are Minnesota Cheese Hounds with ESP regarding anything involving the removal of cheese from the refrigerator. I open the cheese and take out a slice. I tear off a small bit for both dogs and put the remainder of the slice on the bun. I get two pieces of chicken from the flimsy zip-lock deli bag and put them on the cheese.

Here's where it starts to get all Twilight-Zoney.

I take the blue plastic lid from my jar of Hellman's mayonnaise (insert possible two-second fugue state here?), use the knife to smear some of the creamy condiment on my sandwich, toss the knife in the sink, put the top of the bun on the sandwich... and reach for the mayo lid.

Which is nowhere to be found.

My usual suspect: Darwin, who is lying at my feet. Brody has wandered off after ascertaining he was unlikely to receive more cheese. Had the lid hit the tile floor, I probably would've heard it. Even if Darwin snitched it, there would be evidence. If Brody had somehow liberated it from the counter top, I'd at least hear a sloppy, slobbery tongue as he licked the mayo from the underside of the lid. If Darwin had it, there would be crunching. Crunching like, "Hey, mom, thanks for the blue plastic hockey-puck-sized biscuit! Kinda bland, though." But he's lying there, smiling and wagging, hoping for a sudden gravity surge to cause the sandwich to fall from the counter and land in his mouth. It's never happened, but he wholeheartedly believes it will eventually.

I turn in a slow circle, my eyes keyed to locate some hint of blue plastic lid. Hm. Nope. I look in the dishwasher, even though I'm pretty sure I got the plate before I took the mayonnaise jar from the fridge. I look in the lunch meat drawer in the fridge. I look at the spot where the mayo lives in the fridge.

I squat and look under the overhang of the bottom of the cabinets and under the fridge. I look in the dogs' water bowl, which is on the floor at the end of the counter. I look in the sink, the pantry, the freezer (which I don't even think I opened today), and the cupboard where clean plates and glasses live.

I look behind the coffee maker, and in the bowl of my stand mixer. I look on the dining room table. I even look inside the damned crock pot in which a roast is simmering for dinner. No, I have no idea how it could've gotten in there, but by now it's clear it will turn up somewhere bizarre, so why not get a head start on the discovery?

I emptied the trash before making the sandwich, so it's not in there. I look in the dog food bin, and in the shoes under the dining room table. That's pretty desperate.

I look in the Sofur cushions. No, I wasn't in the living room between sandwich-making and the discovery of the Missing Mayo Lid, but that's where my cell phone usually is when I can't find it.

Now, remember, I managed to lose this lid in a matter of seconds, without ever leaving the spot where I was standing at the counter, directly in front of my plate, sandwich, and all sandwich-related ingredients and utensils. I'm pretty sure. Unless there was the fugue state I mentioned earlier. I haven't killed off any new brain cells recently, so I can't blame alcohol detoxification, either.

As of the writing of this post, the mayonnaise lid is still MIA. I put some foil over the mouth of the jar to keep the mayo from getting all icky and gave up the search.

This leaves me contemplating several possible outcomes.

1) The lid is lost, never to be seen again, possibly sucked into a parallel dimension through a momentary rupture in the space-time continuum.
2) It will show up, eventually, in a place that makes perfect sense once I find it and realize how it got there.
3) It will show up, eventually, in a place that makes absolutely no sense and makes me wonder how the hell I had such total brain-failure that this could happen at all. I will consider scheduling an appointment with a neurologist.
4) The dogs are actually evil, malicious, mutant geniuses with a master plan to Gaslight me until my brain shorts out, giving them access to my motor control centers, after which they will force me to hand over cheese on command. This is not so different from how things work now, but to evil, malicious, mutant - cheese-loving - geniuses, more cheese is always better.

For now, I remain clueless and befuddled. I mean more than usual. If any of you have one of those handy psychic quirks involving always being able to determine the location of lost objects, let me know. Until this thing turns up, I've decided to quit worrying about it, because I don't need more frown lines in addition to missing large chunks of my brain.

I suppose I should admit, this isn't the first time something like this has happened. In Colorado last summer, I lost a VIP concert ticket between the box office and the gate, in the space of less than two minutes. It was never found. In September, I lost my car key on the minute-long journey from my car, into the convenience store, and back to the car. I had to walk home. Like the ticket, the key was never seen again. Two days ago, my crochet hook (the only size G I have) vanished, despite the afghan, yarn, and hook having never been moved from the couch. Tom eventually found it under the couch, just as I was about to give up and go to the store to get a new hook. So, one mystery solved, at least.

The jury's still out on the mayonnaise jar lid.

UPDATED: I found it. In the fridge. Behind where the mayo jar usually lives. It must not have been on tightly and fell off as I took the jar out, and I completely failed to notice. I'm trying to decide if I should find that fact at all alarming. I'm going with "no" for now, due to the frown-line concerns.