Here’s a good old-fashioned Foldedspace post for you long-time readers who pine for them.

Last weekend I exercised my heart out. On Saturday I went for a 12 mile run and a 29 mile bike ride. Before my ride with Paul and Susan, I prepped my bike for the road.

“That’s strange,” I said as I futzed with the gear. “I can’t find my bike computer.”

“What’s a bike computer?” Kris asked. How long has she lived with me? And she still doesn’t know what a bike computer is?

“It’s a little square electronic device that straps to the handlebars,” Susan explained. “It tracks how far you’ve gone and how long you’ve been on the bike. It’s pretty cool.”

“And I can’t find mine,” I said. “Somebody has misplaced it.” I didn’t name names, but I knew that I had left it on the kitchen table, but it wasn’t there now. I went for the ride without it.

On Wednesday, I paid bills. Kris and I have gotten in the habit of paying our mortgage a month early (and we pay a little extra to principal, too). This makes us feel good. But it also means we received June’s bill in mid-April. That, too, I had left on the kitchen table, but now that it was time to pay it, I couldn’t find it.

“Do you know where the mortgage bill is?” I e-mailed Kris. “I want to pay it, but somebody has misplaced it.” I was pretty cranky actually. First the bike computer and now the mortgage bill. I looked online. I could pay the mortgage bill via the web, but it cost $11 to do so. Ugh.

“I wish I could find my bike computer and the mortgage bill,” I said every night for the rest of the week. “I sure wish I could find them.” I never named names, but I knew that Kris was responsible. I had checked everywhere for both items: my desk, my books, my pockets.

This morning I was preparing to go to the gym. Because it’s a glorious day, I decided to ride my bike into Milwaukie. “It sure would be nice to have my bike computer for this ride,” I said. “And where are my biking shorts, anyhow?”

“Your biking shorts are where they’re supposed to be. They’re where I put them. In your exercise drawer.” I checked the drawer. Sure enough, the biking shorts were there.

“Now all I need are the bike computer and the mortgage bill,” I said.

“Well, one out of three ain’t bad,” Kris said.

I sat down at the chair in my office to put on my socks. “Yes, I really wish I knew where the bike computer and the mortgage bill were,” I said. I wanted Kris to admit that she had misplaced them. Then, for no reason whatsoever, I opened my desk drawer.

“Huh,” I said. “What do you know?” There was my mortgage bill, exactly where I had put it. (But why had I put it there? That’s what I want to know.)

Kris looked at me and shook her head. “Two out of three ain’t bad,” she said.

“I guess I misplaced that,” I said, setting the bill on my desk. I idly began to clean up the gadgets in the far corner. “But I’m still missing my buh —”

I stopped.

There, underneath my Skype headset (which I had used last week to interview Tim Ferriss), was my bike computer. Just where I had left it.

“You know what I think is the best part of this story?” Kris asked. I didn’t really want to know, but she told me anyhow. “I wasn’t responsible for any of those.”

“I know,” I said, sighing. “But you’ll notice I never named you explicitly.”

“Oh, I know, but you were blaming me in your heart. I could tell.” She’s right. I was blaming her in my heart. I was certain she had misplaced the things that it turns out I had misplaced. But what have we learned over the years, dear readers? Kris Gates is always right. And that’s part of why I love her.