I thought maybe it got dislodged and was stuck to the inside of my pajamas but I turned them inside out and it wasn't there.
Maybe, I thought, it was stuck to the back of my thigh. I felt up my own leg (cheap thrill) and no, it wasn't there. Nor was it on my back or in my hair. I honestly don't know how it would travel from my underwear to my hair, but you never know.
I even checked the bed and for one horrible moment imagined Dave going to work with a used mini-pad wrapped around the back of his neck. So I phoned him, and thank gawd, no mini-pad. That would have gone over well with a garage full of mechanics. We would have had to move. Probably to Outer Siberia. Just so we wouldn't hear the laughing.
I have no geezly idea where this stupid mini-pad is. With my luck it'll show up at the most inopportune time. Like tonight. We're having the neighbours over for dinner and I have visions of the dog trotting out of the bathroom with it plastered to her head.