I hate that that sinking feeling you get when your (insert the name of your lost item here) isn’t where you thought it was. I have more experience with this subject than I care to admit.
One day I left my red wallet on the roof of the car when I was pumping gas because I couldn’t hold the gas pump handle and my wallet at the same time, now could I? I drove off with that little red thing sitting on top my car. Nobody waved furiously at me, so I drove home 32 miles none the wiser. When I looked for my credit card to order something online that I didn’t need two hours later … guess what? No red wallet. I steeled myself to confess to Honey about my/our little problem, and of course he rolled his eyes and told me I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached, which is silly because it is attached, and anyone can tell that just looking at me so let’s just stop fretting about my losing my head one day, okay?
Honey suggested that we drive back 32 miles to the source of my crime in case the little red wallet fell on the ground somewhere. Geez, this will be the longest, quietest 32 minutes of my life, but there is no way out of this purgatory. So I buckle up and turn the radio up and hum along. I ask the gas station attendant if she has seen a little red wallet, but she hasn’t. So we drive back to the highway while I look in the gutters and on the road, but, alas, no flash of red leather. My wallet has gone forever, and I now need to replace all ID, credit cards, and even my customer card for Bare Minerals makeup, forcing me to start over collecting those little hole punches to get one free mineral makeup for every 100 purchases.
Three months pass. Then, one day, my phone rings. A man asks if I lost a little red wallet. He says he found it on the side of the highway when he was picking up garbage. I go pick it up from him and thank him profusely for his kindness. Who woulda guessed?
Flash forward to last week when I was in Oklahoma getting ready to leave for the airport and checking my purse to be sure I had my ticket, cell phone and … wait … where is my cell? I see my red work phone buried in my purse, but not my pink personal phone. I also see Honey’s face in my mind, mouthing the words, “You’d lose your head …”. Gawd, I have been scarred for life by his declaration about my head.
I rush back to the hotel, get a new room key, and go to room 310 where the sheets have been torn off the bed for washing. I look everywhere but can’t find the dang pink phone. I’m starting to sweat. I have a plane to catch. I have a brainstorm — I’ll use my red phone to call my pink phone. Maybe it’s hiding somewhere. I enter my number, and I hear a faint ring, ring, ring. I try to follow the sound but can’t pinpoint it. As I enter the hall, I try my phone number again. The ringing is a bit closer now. At the end of the hall, I see a laundry cart. Hmmm. The ringing gets louder as I approach the cart. I call out for the cleaning lady, and she appears, speaking Spanish. This is not so good. I point at the ringing cart and tell her “mia phona” is in her “carta.” She pulls the sheets out one by one, and then suddenly my phone pops up. I have just avoided the “you’d lose your head speech …” by a sheet.
The next day when I was purchasing a gift for a friend with my credit card, and the clerk asked for my license. I poured through my purse looking in my wallet and all 12 purse compartments. No license. I rush home and go through all my clothes from the past three days. No license. In desperation, I brace myself and ask Honey if he has seen my license. He gives me the look, followed predictably by comments about my head.