My husband lost his wallet.
At first, we weren’t too worried. Because, you know, things go AWOL all the time in the Den. Really nothing to write about there. Stepped barefoot on a toy, had boogers wiped on my shirt, cleaned juice off the floor and lost something. That’s pretty much the every day deal around here.
But as the initial search turned up nothing, we began to become slightly alarmed. Where had he seen it last? Was it in the washing machine right now? Retrace your steps, honey…
As the more intensive search (which included in and behind toy boxes, on top of shelves, the garden shed, and other unlikely spots which nevertheless have been known to turn up missing items) likewise turned up no wallet, we began to become downright uneasy. Think! EXACTLY where were you the last time you had it? Where did you go? Did you check in the car? Under the car? Around the car? Glovebox? Did you take it out of your pocket and set it on top of the spa?!
My poor husband finally took a bracing sip of beer and headed out for what is possibly the grossest thing we could think of: that Captain Adventure had found it and tossed it in the trash, and that we had then thrown said trash into the tote without noticing the wallet IN it. This is a new thing for him, picking stuff up and tossing it in the trash. I’m constantly pulling kitchen towels, cups, silverware and other oddments out of the kitchen trash can, toys and clothing and other things he was finished with out of the laundry room trash.
So out Himself went, to search for his wallet among the decaying whatnots and also the ‘used’ diapers and OH GOD I CAN’T TALK ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW.
Bravely he went forth. Dejected he returned: no wallet. Maggots, yes. Wallet, no. (EWWW!)
After dinner, I headed upstairs to look just one (1) more time. Because you know how it is: You lose something, you search like a maniac, find nothing, and then the next morning find it precisely where you thought it was in the first place.
It was not in the closet, on the floor or a shelf. It was not on my desk. It was not on the nightstand. Dejected, I sat down on the bed and rubbed at my eyes. The last places left to consider were bad, very very bad – the parking lot at Target, Starbucks, or in the parking lot at Orchard Hardware. None of these retailers admitted having the wallet in their lost and found, soooooooo…visions of our credit card being used all across America, having to replace this and that, no driver’s license (hmm, just what IS the penalty if you get busted driving without one?) not to mention that he hadn’t remembered to take his social security card out of his wallet after landing his last job…ARGH! Having to put a fraud alert up on the reporting bureaus, MEH!!
Now people, I had checked some very odd places. I had checked trash cans. I had checked kitchen drawers. I had checked under desks, and behind the washing machine. I had looked all kinds of places. Not really expecting anything but dust bunnies (or maybe Jimmy Hoffa), I got down on my hands and knees, lifted up the bedskirt and peered under the bed.
Lo. And. Behold. Kicked under the bed $DEITY only knows when…the wallet lay in impudent splendor amid the dust and lost socks.
I swear it stuck its tongue out at me.
I SWEAR IT DID!
I snatched it up and ran downstairs like I’d won the lottery, yelling, “HOW MUCH DO YOU LOVE ME?!” at the top of my lungs.
Dignity and decorum at all times, that’s me.
And he, uh, he loves me a lot.
…and not just for wallet finding, allegedly…
(…although he DOES rather wish I had thought of under the bed BEFORE he went digging through the trash…)
Wish on a Shooting Star
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