Picking on Dr. Daddy

Dr. Daddy was kindly making eggs for lunch last week. He made a huge omelet so I asked him if he finished up the eggs. He assured me he hadn't, which was good because I needed them for something else. So I looked in the fridge for them. I couldn't see them. I double checked that he put them in the fridge. he assured me he had put them away. I looked again. I didn't see them where we normally keep them. Nor did I see them anywhere else, logical or not. I asked him again if there were in fact any left, and if so, where they might be. (We had already checked the counters.) He was sure he had left some. But he couldn't find them in the fridge either. Pausing to think for a minute, he said, "I put them away, unless I put them in the cupboard." He opened the cupboard that stores our plastic containers and sure enough, on the shelf next to the rectangle and square boxes was the carton of eggs.
Later that evening he was pouring water for us and as he was returning the jug (to the fridge normally) he started to open the cupboard (yes, the same cupboard that he put the eggs into). But he stopped himself, and, according to him, the only reason he caught himself was because the jug didn't fit on the shelf! I think someone needs to get some more sleep.


You know you're married to a geologist when you're watching a movie and the thing he notices from a scene is "nice turbidites".