ceekari:

curlicuecal:

random-cuz-awesome:

Yet another reason to love this man

We can never find any scissors in our house, and yet the last time we moved it turned out we literally owned 13 pairs of scissors. How did that happen? Where do they go?

I firmly believe scissors are one of those things that have only the most tenuous connection with this dimension.

Around here, we can usually find scissors, but it’s never the same pair. At the very least, the color of the grip changes; at worst, the species of scissors changes. You want kitchen shears? Too bad, they’re hair shears now. You want to cut wrapping paper? All you can find is cuticle trimmers. Where you put your crafting scissors there’s now a pair of wire cutters. You want to cut hair so you look for the hair shears in the kitchen, but tada! you got kindergarten safety scissors.

I circumvent this by keeping one pair in my room, and I tell it that I remember it’s supposed to be a blue-handled pair of general purpose scissors, so it knows it can’t pull shit on me.