We heard a cell phone dimly buzzing. Not mine, it's in my pocket.
Ernest said, maybe it's Dad's. Nope, if he left it at home it would be in the bedroom.
This buzzing was coming from somewhere in the living room. It stopped. I called Ernest's number. What do you know? The buzzing started again.
We strip searched the furniture, thinking that the phone would act like all the remote controls in the house and be stuffed down between some sofa cushions. Nope. He finally located the phone, somewhere on the floor under something else. And my living room resembled this disaster area. Wait a minute. It IS this disaster area.
Where's the oddest place you've ever found your cell phone?