Coming back from Edinburgh tired and with a miserable cold, I put on one pair and climbed into my preheated bed. Only in the morning did I discover I had a lavender bottom and pink top. Rainbow meltdown.
When I looked into my closet, which for once was in perfect order having arranged it before leaving for the UK, I couldn't find the match. I checked laundry, undid and redid the closet.
The only thing left to do was to call in ... wait... imagine trumpets
The Finder, aka my housemate, does not wear special tights, capes, masks. Nor does she rush into telephone booths to change (what will Superman do now that mobile phones are doing away with phone boxes?). Her reputation is legend with holding up lost rings, watches, glasses, underwear, even money unable to miss her eagle search light. Dressed in her regular slacks, top and neck scarf, she went to work going through the places I'd searched.
She also has the technique of asking questions that would do a detective proud.
Then she started tearing apart my bed.
Voilà. The missing bottom that I had kicked of when I became too hot in the middle of the night and under my pillow the missing top that I had put there to wear again and had forgotten in the interim of my UK stay.
And the best part of The Finder. She only laughs about it not at me.