There are some sins in a marriage that just cannot be forgotten. Forgiven, yes, but never really forgotten. You put a lot of trust in the person you share your life with. A LOT of trust. And even a tiny fracture of that trust is hard to forget. The memory of a mistake your spouse has made looms in the back of your mind, waiting to be remembered, waiting to be flung across the room as part of an accusatory statement.

I'm not talking about cheating here. I'm talking about Corningware.

In November, the company Rob works for had a carry-in Thanksgiving meal. Rob took cranberry sauce in one of our glass containers. No, my favorite glass container. It was a small cranberry-colored Visions container. It was perfect for leftovers. We used that container all the time.

And Rob, he lost it. HE LOST THE CONTAINER!!

I specifically remember saying to him that morning when he left with his cranberry sauce in tow, "Make sure you don't lose the container." Really, I'm typically not that possessive of my stuff, but it was my favorite container! We used it all the time! That night I didn't notice that Rob hadn't brought it back, but the next evening I asked him, "Where's that container you took to work? You brought it back, right?" And he looked at me sheepishly and I knew. His slip-up was written all over his face. I looked at him, disappointed and in disbelief, and said, "You lost my container?"

No, he hadn't lost it, technically. He knew right where he'd left it. But when he went back to get it at the end of the day, it was gone. "So you're saying someone stole my bowl?" Well no, not quite. Apparently the secretaries had taken the leftover food from the meal to a food shelter and he thinks the container just never made it back. "Well you're going to ask them, right? Because probably the secretaries know exactly where the container is and just don't know to whom it belongs." Yes, he would ask them. In fact, he had tried to ask them that day, hoping to retrieve it and bring it back without me ever knowing it had been temporarily lost, but he hadn't been able to track them down. Yeah, okay. Whatever.

So the next day I sent him off to work with a strict directive to ask the secretaries about our container. He came home saying he had asked them but they didn't remember seeing it.

I began to grow a bit suspicious at this point. Perhaps I was just in denial, but the whole story seemed a little strange to me. Christmas was fast-approaching and I began to wonder if perhaps Rob had the container after all and was just messing with me.

You see, I have been known to steal people's stuff so that I can give it back to them for Christmas. Well, just once did I do this. My brother and I were kids and we didn't have any good ideas (or money) for presents for my parents, so I suggested we steal something that each of them used every day, something they would really miss, and then give it back to them for Christmas. I mean, think how happy they would be! Best presents ever, right? So we stole my dad's winter coat and my mom's eyelash curler. Mom had a back-up and didn't even notice the other one was missing. But my poor dad looked everywhere for that coat. He went back to every place he might possibly have left it, and resorted to wearing a much thinner coat out in the cold instead. All the while, his coat was in my closet, wrapped and waiting for Christmas.

Rob has always been appalled by that story. Thinks I'm some sort of sociopath freak or something. And so I started to wonder if maybe he had stolen my container so that he could give it to me for Christmas as a cruel joke.

So I called him on it one day. I said, "You really do have that container, don't you? Of course you didn't lose it. You're just keeping it to give to me for Christmas. Aren't you?!" He shrugged his shoulders and maintained a blank expression. "Fine then. But know this - there had better be a container just like that one under the tree. So if you really don't have it, you'd best be going out and buying one."

Turns out he really had lost it. And under the tree were not one but three containers to replace it. But they were blue - I think he didn't buy cranberry-colored ones in the hope that I would forget the entire cranberry sauce/lost container fiasco.

Which brings me to the point of this post: I did not forget. In fact, every time I use one of those imposter blue containers, I think sadly of my cranberry-colored one and how Rob lost it.

Rob hasn't taken any food for sharing to work since. But last evening I made cupcakes to take to dinner with my parents, and I thought it would be nice to send the extra ones to work with Rob today. But as I thought about which container to send them in, the betrayal came flooding back and I almost didn't send them at all. I just wasn't sure I could trust Rob to take care of the container. But then I told myself that I have to try to trust him again, that he deserves the chance to prove to me that he's changed.

So this morning I placed the cupcakes gently into the only container that would hold them - my largest Corningware container. And I pleaded with Rob for it to be different this time. "Okay, I am sending the cupcakes in this Corningware container. My favorite Corningware container, the one that I got in Corning, NY. The one with the pattern that I've never been able to find anywhere else, ever. Please...please, just don't lose it. In fact, rather than leaving this container in the eating area, perhaps you should keep it in your cube and just offer the cupcakes to people who stop by. Just...just don't lose it, okay?"

He rolled his eyes (I don't think he's taking this as seriously as he should) and promised he'd take care of the container. And then I wrote our last name on tape and stuck it to the bottom, just in case.

______________
UPDATE (2:00pm): Rob just forwarded me an email from one of his co-workers that said, "That was the best cupcake I've ever had. Thanks." How sweet, right? And yet the first thing I thought was, "Did Rob forward this to me as a way to suck up because he LOST MY CONTAINER?"
______________
UPDATE (7:00pm): Rob has successfully returned home with the Corningware (and lid!), although he loses points for cruelty: he walked through the door empty-handed and was all, "Container? What container?" Still, the potential marriage-threatening crisis has been averted and trust has in large part been re-established. (However, I think I will buy some Gladware immediately.)