The case of the missing screwdrivers

I believe there is a massive tool conspiracy occurring in my house.

It involves a five-year-old, my wife and my utility drawer. Heck, J. Edgar Hoover may even be in on this one. Yeah, it's that serious (but doesn't wear women's clothing, that'd just be weird).

This tale begins years ago, about the time certain little hands could reach into kitchen drawers, things began to disappear.

Now, a man's utility drawer is the most important drawer in the house. It contains almost everything you need to fix (or break) all of the little pains in a household.

We all have them, full of the extra nails and screws from entertainment centers and toddler beds, hammers, pliers, screwdrivers and the dye they give you to fix scratches on said entertainment centers (used up in the first year).

But the screwdrivers are at the heart of my conspiracy. Since those little hands could fish blindly in the drawer, I lost every single phillips screwdriver in the house.

Flatheads, sure, there were always plenty. But a phillips was nowhere to be found.

Even when I bought new ones, they would disappear. But the flathead that was in my first tool kit I got when I turned 16 was always right there on top.

After years of warnings of the dangerous things in that drawer, he grew out of his phase of taking tools. All was good, even though I had no phillips screwdrivers.

And this is where it gets weird folks. This is not for the squeamish.

The other day I went to get out a flathead, and barely looking grabbed the first screwdriver handle I saw.

Phillips. Grab another.

Phillips. Grab another.

Phillips. Grab another.

Wait, what???? Jumpin Jehoshaphat!  There were three phillips screwdrivers in there. Even though I'm horrible at math, I know because I counted them twice.

Mission changed, I dumped out the whole drawer to see if a doorway to Narnia was in the back.

No Narnia gate. And not one single flathead screwdriver.

Sensing something was amiss, I looked again. Three phillips, no flatheads.

I must be going crazy -- I thought this quietly so no one else could hear.

So there I went, hat in hand, to go borrow one from the neighbor, as I have been doing for years.

I asked for a screwdriver, he went to his garage, only to return with a phillips, as per the norm.

I began laughing hysterically, confirming that I was indeed losing my mind. After wiping away the tears, I explained and we shared a good laugh.

Usually I call out my inner Sherlock Holmes for these situations, but the weirdness of it suggests I should leave it alone.

It seems to be a missing sock type of ordeal, but I strongly believe someone is having some fun at my expense.

I've always been very vocal about missing tools, maybe this is some payback.

Or maybe the phillips' were on vacation, and now its the flatheads' turn (pun intended) to take a trip.

But every suspect either played the deny card or had a reliable alibi.

The only possible explanation left is that there is, in fact, a conspiracy afoot to make me into the crazy guy on the block.

But of course, I probably already am. Next thing I know, every screw in the house will suddenly turn into star bits.

That's when I'll let out the defeated sigh, get one of those fancy strapped jackets and put some padding on the walls.

Jesse Murphy is managing editor at the Maryville Daily Forum. He can be reached at jmurphy@maryvilledailyforum.com