The Mystery of the Well-Hung Hose

When we returned home tonight Sylvia thanked me for sweeping out the garage. "Oh, and look how nicely you hung the hose," she added, assuming I'd also used it.

I hadn't, but I instinctively looked over and was stunned to see that the hose was hung very nicely indeed - and that meant I couldn't possibly have been the one to hang it, for I fight with hoses as though they were recalcitrant cobras being stuffed back into their fakir baskets.

Perhaps Sylvia's father did it? No. My father? No. Sylvia? No...she can't even reach the lowest dangling portion of the hose (I exaggerate only slightly).

Perhaps we have a Guardian Angel of Hose-Hanging. Well, I'm not opposed to supernatural help if it'll keep the garage neat.