Terry moved the oats and now I'm irretrievably confused

This was about as close as the AI Blog Post Image Generator could get when asked to produce a picture conforming to the prompt, "Someone moved the oats and I can't find them." You don't want to see the nightmare fuel that is the six other images I rejected before settling on this one.

Today's headline is somewhat misleading in that it sounds as if I'm accusing my wife of doing something wrong.

That's not the case at all. What she did actually made a lot of sense.

The problem, as always, was me.

Here's the deal: I eat plain oatmeal every morning. I take a 1/2 cup of rolled oats, mix it with water and microwave it.

Quick, simple, delicious.

For many years, we kept those oats in a plastic container stored in one of the lower cabinets in our kitchen. Getting to this container involved some semi-awkward bending down and reaching into the back of the cabinet, but I got so good at it over time that I could do it without looking and didn't mind the required effort.

Then, as part of her ongoing reorganization efforts in our house, Terry decided the oats should be put somewhere more accessible. So she moved them to an upper cabinet in the same corner of the kitchen, right at eye level where they could be seen and much more easily grabbed.

This was perfectly logical.

The problem was (and still is) that I couldn't get out of the years-old habit of bending down and reaching into the ground-level cabinet to get the oats. They have been in the upper cabinet for a good three months now, yet I still reach blindly for them in their old location probably three times out of seven each week.

I thrust my arm into the dark recess of the lower cabinet where my habitual brain believes they should still be, and I touch nothing but air.

Only when I give it a moment's thought do I remember the more convenient place the oats are now stored and change tack.

I simply can't stop doing this. Again, while it doesn't happen every day, it still happens regularly.

It's very much like the time Terry moved the silverware out of one kitchen drawer into another. I eventually adjusted, but not 100% of the way. To this day, I still occasionally open the wrong drawer hoping to find a knife or fork there, like it's 2005 or something.

I am whatever is one step beyond a "creature of habit."

If Terry really wanted to mess with me, she would occasionally put the oats back in the old place. Then I would either reach into the new spot and come up empty, or I would mistakenly try the old location again and become very disoriented the moment I realize the oats are there but shouldn't be.

Either way, I really shouldn't give her any ideas.