I dropped my beloved peeler on the floor. Now it is only a handle. There it landed, and though I went down on my knees and peered in all the cracking-grout cracks, though I looked in any imaginable place it could have bounced or slid to, it remains hidden from me.
Where oh where did it go?
I shall miss it sorely.
For can a peeler be a peeler if it can no longer peel?
And no, Matthew did not eat it--he was not in the kitchen at the time. Tho, he is a likely culprit.
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