Lost Posessions Paradise.

Somewhere far, far away, there is an island surrounded by bright blue, shark-infested waters.

No human has ever reached its shores alive, though many have died trying.

The beaches are sandy and warm and the palm trees sway lazily in the calm breeze. Coconuts fall gently into the sand and the birds sing beautiful melodies as the peaceful tide rolls in and out.

And every day, a large white ship with gleaming smoke-stacks splashes its way onto the shore to deliver its precious load : millions of eager bobby pins, chapsticks, and socks from homes worldwide.

Meanwhile, their friends across the globe slip slyly through open windows and into air vents and down pipes when their owners aren't looking; they head for the shore to catch a ride onboard the ship that will take them to the faraway island.




Every bobby pin dreams of the day when they will sift through the warm sand instead of enduring their lot in life: being shoved into the ponytails and dirty bangs of girls 'round the world. Every chapstick imagines the salty ocean waters and warm sun as it is smudged against cracked lips day after day. And every sock reminds it's spouse that one day, they will no longer be subjected to smelly feet and sweltering shoes; when the time comes, he will slip away while tumbling in the dryer and promise to send for her later.

These essential personal possessions endure the drudgery day by day, but they are plotting, they are planning, they are hoping. And one day, they will slip away, unseen, and head straight for the island of bobby pins, chapsticks, and socks to live out their existence in balmy bliss, never to be heard from again.

This is really the only explanation I could come up with for why those dang things are constantly disappearing. I've decided it has to be true.