Sometime's he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer

A few weeks ago Zeke had some friends over and after that my beloved Cutco French chef's knife went missing.

I've had that knife for over 27 years and it is my favorite. I use it every day. I've never used a knife that feels as good in my hand or that is so perfectly balanced.

When I was in law school, my roommate and I had some friends over for dinner. The guys were in the kitchen while I cooked and started futzing around with the knife. I yelled at them, not because I was worried they would cut themselves, but because I didn't want them messing with my expensive knife.

So a few weeks ago, I was cooking something and getting ready to cut some vegetables. I opened my knife drawer and reached for the French chef's knife - it lives in the far right slot of this knife tray - only to realize it wasn't there.

"Huh," I muttered to myself.

I went and looked in the sink. Not there. I looked in the dishwasher. Not there.

At that point I had exhausted the list of possible locations where it could be. I am not a meticulously neat person -- except when it comes to my kitchen. Everything has its specific spot. Everything always gets put away in that specific spot, every single time. Always always always.

I asked the kids where my knife was. They professed ignorance.

I looked all through the kitchen. Every drawer, every cupboard, in the fridge, in the freezer. Everywhere. I did this multiple times.

I asked Zeke if he and his friends had been playing with the knife. He denied it, but he's a shameless liar, so who knows.

I looked throughout the house, under beds, on shelves, on tables and desks, in bookshelves. I did this multiple times.

I became increasingly irate. I told the kids that everyone was grounded until my knife was found. They started to cry, so I backed off and offered a reward of $25 to anyone who found it or provided information leading to its discovery.

My friends on Facebook made a number of suggestions, my answers to which were as follows, in no particular order:

I don't carry my 15-inch-long knife in my purse. It's not in the kids' backpacks because I don't make their lunches. I don't take the knife with me anywhere outside the kitchen. I would never loan it out.

People kept saying, "it'll turn up, things like this happen...

Actually, they don't. Knives don't just up and waltz themselves out of the kitchen.

The only thing I could think of was that Zeke and his friends had taken it. Nothing else made sense, especially with those particular friends. One is a sneaky little shit and I'm convinced the other is going to end up murdering his parents in his sleep. Possibly with my knife.

The next day I got a call from Zeke.

"Hey, mom! I think I found your knife?"

"Is that so? Where?"

"On the top shelf of Josie's closet!"

The ceilings in my house are very high. Getting to the top shelf of Josie's closet would be quite an undertaking.

"Really. That's very interesting. What were you doing poking around the top shelf of Josie's closet?"

"Oh, uh... I wanted to look at the box that has the fire escape ladder...."

"Uh huh."

"No really!"

"Whatever."

He texted me a bit later.

The kid's got balls, I'll give him that.

Needless to say, he and I had another long talk about how I can't stand it when people lie to me, especially when they're so fucking bad at it. I always know. Always. ALWAYS.

Nobody got the $25.