I couldn’t find my cellphone for a few days, and I was starting to think that I had lost it. But one afternoon while I was sitting on the couch (a rarity for me–I’m usually, um, let’s say running or doing really physical things), I heard it ring.

My smart phone always tells me who is calling between rings: “Call from Bridget”

I heard the smart phone’s voice, and I heard the rings, and I sort of narrowed down the location, but couldn’t quite pinpoint it. I must have looked for it for twenty minutes with no luck. So, I called it again from my land line.

“Call from Rick”

It sounded like it was caught in the couch cushions (again–not sure how that could have happened because I’m such a *ahem* exerciser, and so not a couch potato), but I tore up that couch and it wasn’t there. It wasn’t under the cushions, and it hadn’t slipped behind the cushions. I lifted up the couch and it wasn’t underneath it either.

What the heck?

I called it again: “Call from Rick”

That’s when I figured out where it was. It had slipped through a little hole, and fallen between the springs of the couch. I tried to reach through the hole, but my hand was too big. I got Sean to reach his smaller hand through the hole, but he couldn’t find the phone when he reached around.

Now what? Suddenly it started ringing off the hook. I’m on the board of a local soccer club, and there must have been some issues with the fields. Everybody was calling my cellphone.

“Call from Jeannette”

“Call from Steve”

“Call from Joe”

Crap. I didn’t have anyone’s number because I stored them all on my phone. I had to get that darn thing out of there. I was just about to cut a hole in the bottom of the couch when Bridget returned home from work.

“What are you doing?”

“My phone is trapped in the springs of the couch, and I can’t find it.”

“Just call the number.”

“I HAVE,” I said, perhaps a little too forcefully.

“Here, I’ll do it,” she said.

“It won’t help,” I said. “We still can’t find it.”

“Turn off the lights,” she said.

Sure enough. When the lights were out, we could see the light of the phone as it rang. It literally took her thirty seconds to get it out. I felt like a complete idiot, which I’ll grant you is not an unusual feeling for me.

The good news is that in the extremely unlikely circumstance that I lose my phone in the couch again (which won’t happen, I mean it’s not like there are indentations on a certain spot of the couch that perfectly fit my cheeks), I’ll know what to do.

I’ll ask Bridget for help.