I know where the camera is.

My Grandmother has -- or, rather, had -- a Fuji Discovery 1000 Zoom.

I say she had it because, a number of years ago, she lent it to my dad.

She began to complain that, any time she lent us something, she wouldn't get it back, and that, like her dishes, it was lost forever. She sends us leftovers regularly, but now she sends them in disposable tupperware instead of on plates. On the other hand, three of her dishes are sitting in our dishrack, and see normal use.

A few years after she loaned us the camera, my mom, now sick of hearing about the damn camera, declared that she had found it, and we all had a good laugh, until about a month later, when nana went to use it, and found that mom hadn't bothered to look inside the case, and had instead returned an empty case.

Mom does not remember it this way, and, however many years later, insists she returned it.


It has become a point of contention.

So contentious a point of contention that mom managed to make nana cry over it today.


But I know -- for a fact -- where the camera is.


I'm dropping the film that was in it off to be processed tomorrow.