Before Maria and I went on our trip to New York a few weeks ago, I had to pack my bag.

I packed plenty of shorts and casual shirts. You know, the things you need to wear to a tennis tournament.

Then I went to pack one final thing I thought I might need for the weekend.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find it. I looked all over our room. Both of us knew where it had been a few days before. I remembered putting it in a very specific place, but it wasn’t there.

I could only come up with one explanation. My wife stole my good pair of jeans.

At first, that might sound like a silly conclusion, but can you think of anything better?

My jeans were on my dresser. I moved them to my closet. Now, we cannot find them anywhere. Ergo, my wife stole them.

No one else had access to the house. Bridget can’t reach up to where I put them. Sure, I’m pretty absent-minded and tend to lose things, but how do you lose a pair of jeans?

My mother used to tell me that if my head wasn’t attached, I would lose it. I can’t recall how many winter hats and pairs of gloves I lost growing up. One time, she actually had to make me “idiot mittens” – the ones with the string running up the sleeve to connect to the other one so you could just keep them inside your coat.

All that did was help me lose two mittens more effectively instead of coming home with half a set. Even with all that though, I don’t think I have had trouble finding a pair of jeans until now.

These just weren’t any jeans, by the way. They actually fit me. They kind of fit me.

I have “outgrown” most of the jeans in my closet so I bought two pair earlier this year. The missing pair is one of them.

I have pretty short legs and pretty much have to get any pair of pants I buy hemmed. The stolen pair were short enough so that I could get away with wearing them by rolling up the pants legs a little bit. I looked like something out of the 50s.

Naturally, the other pair – the ones I actually had to take to the tailor and get hemmed – have hung in my closet for going on six months.

So technically, this wouldn’t be a problem if I had actually gotten off my lazy behind and had my pants hemmed, but this is no time to criticize the inertia of my past.

This is the time to solve a crime. I know I said Maria did it, but I don’t want to believe it. I need to find some other answer so I can start feeling safe in the house again.

The biggest problem is that I don’t really know if she had a motive. She has her own jeans so it’s not like she needed something to wear. She has been making a whole lot of handmade cards so maybe she had to sell my pants to support her habit.

I don’t know. I don’t care. I just want my jeans back.