the ever evasive baseball shirt

My son has this incredible way of expressing his distaste for work. Any kind of work. Even the kind of work that requires moving your body and hands.

Me: Kindred, can you go grab your baseball shirt?
Kindred: Where is it?
Me: I am pretty sure YOUR ROOM.
two seconds later
Kindred: My shirt is missing. It's not there.
Me: Did you check YOUR ROOM? In YOUR DRAWER?
Kindred: It's not there. It's missing.
Me: I just did laundry and it went to your room. Can you check again.
Kindred: But I just came downstairs. Do you know where it is?
Me: I think it's in YOUR ROOM. Probably in YOUR DRAWER.
Kindred: Fine.
three seconds later.
Me: Looks like you found it. Where was it?
Kindred: The only place I didn't look.
Me: Where was that?
Kindred: My room. In my shirt drawer.