My boyfriend bought me a vibrator in university. When I was moving out of my apartment after my degree, I wrapped it in a bag with a ton of tape, labelled it "electronics", and put it into one of the boxes. Some of my stuff came home with me to my parents' house, and some went into my grandmother's basement for storage. When I was unpacking, I couldn't find the vibrator, and I've been terrified since 2006 that someone might find it. Over the years I've ransacked my grandmother's basement countless times in fear that she might someday happen upon it, immediately know it was mine, and be completely scandalized. Since then I have of course come to realize that it's nothing to be ashamed of and that I shouldn't be so mortified about it, but I think I just got so used to worrying about it that it would still keep me awake at night sometimes. It's what I think of every time I hear the term "object permanence". It's been torturing me for so many years... Cut to yesterday. My sister texts me a photo of a bag wrapped in tape labelled "electronics", which she found when cleaning out the basement at my mom and dad's. She has heard this story before and she knew exactly what it was when she found it. This is the best possible outcome, and last night I slept better than I have in 14 years. I am finally free.