The group was talking about the various objects that they had forgotten to take with them when they had left a restaurant, a motel, or ship or the like. I recalled an episode in my life:

He and I had been a couple for five years. Not a terribly romantic relationship, but we were suitable partners in many ways. We respected each other, had a good love life, and did not quarrel. But he did get grumpy at times, especially when he became bored with a situation that was not exactly to his liking. That’s how he was at the Carnarvons.

He had a campervan in which we had travelled, at my instigation, to the famous Carnarvon Range campsite. It was pretty primitive in those days, but I thought he had enjoyed the bush walks over rocky creeks, up dizzying heights and over many kilometres to glimpse the fabulous terrain. He didn’t say much, and did not gasp in wonder as I had when we came upon the aboriginal art of long ago. He was not a man of many words, but I sensed a relief when we finally packed up to go home.

We were about a hundred kilometres on our way when I offered him a piece of his favourite crystallised ginger, which he accepted with a little smile. It was enough to educe a scream from me... ‘Your teeth!’ I yelled, ‘Where are your teeth?’ He had a partial plate with several bicuspids on it, not a big affair, but it made a huge difference to his appearance. He kept on driving.

It didn’t take long for him to realise that the denture was indeed missing, but he kept his eye on the corrugated road, not slackening our pace at all.
‘We’ll have to go back!’ I urged, ‘You must have left them at the campground! Where do you think they are?’
‘I cleaned my teeth just before we left,’ he replied rather testily, ‘I was so glad to get away from that damn place, I must have left them on the stump!’ As I said, the campsite was pretty primitive, and the nearest place for us to clean our teeth was at a tap that sprouted from the ground next to a sawn off tree stump that served as a repository for toothbrush...or dentures.
‘We must go back and get them!’ I implored as he kept up the driving speed, ‘Turn around!’
‘No... the bloody things can stay there!’ he shouted angrily, ‘ I’m not going back to that place!’ And that was that. The rest of the journey home was conducted in a rather sombre manner.
Of course, as soon as we arrived home, I phoned the camp ranger who was quite charming as I explained the delicate situation. He assured me he would do his best to find ‘the site that fielded the stump that held the teeth that belonged to my mate’ who was still cranky with himself. The ranger later phoned me back to assure me he had found the precious item, and he would post them to me forthwith. Done.