It started out innocently enough.
The Friday before Christmas My Sweet and I went to my boss' place, in another city, for an open house party. It was the first day of vacation, I didn't have to teach in the morning, so I was enjoying a good bit of nog with my egg, as well as a couple of glasses of warm mulled wine. I was feeling pretty relaxed.
After our agreed upon 60 minutes, I grabbed my jacket and purse as we headed out the door to have a coffee and play some Connect Four at the funky coffee joint we truly love. This place is fabulous not so much because of the coffee, but the people watching is awesome. At one table was a little septuagenarian decked out in her fur trimmed coat with matching hat and sipping her drink through a straw using the side of her mouth (it doesn't mess up the lipstick). Then there was the group of 20 year olds with cherubic faces and studded leather collars. We made some jokes as they rearranged the tables to play the 21st century version of Dungeons and Dragons.
The next event for the evening was to go watch some of the amazing neighborhood lights. We strolled through the neighborhoods admiring the sheer amount of wattage (I have to buy stock in the electric company next winter!). Finally we headed back to our sweet hometown.
As we took our exit, there was that niggling feeling at the base of my skull I get when my subconscious isn't quite ready to let me know I have made a mistake, especially one I will have to humbly tell someone about. But once we parked and I stepped out of the car I knew it was true. My purse was nowhere to be found. The scatterbrain had struck again.
OK, so after a momentary panic I decided to call my cell phone, which was at the bottom of my purse along with the house keys, school keys, credit cards and a half-off coupon. Maybe I could contact the person who found my forgotten bag or beg the petty thief to take the cash and leave the things that are useful only to me. It's ringing. Ringing. Come on, pick up! Dang, my voice mail. Try again. This time straight to voice mail. Some stinking SOB has pinched my purse and turned off my phone! But wait there may be another explanation (there goes my subconscious playing tricks on me again).
I call the kooky cafe to have the barista double check and see if I left it on my chair, but he didn't see it. Argh, that fricking pocket picking perp! I am going to have to replace all that stuff. I know it was one of those people at the cafe. The "matching hat" biddy and the "fishnet cherubs" gave a comfortable friendly first impression, but really I knew nothing about them. Old grannies have been known to pull a heist or two. The group of punks needs to somehow support their gaming habit. Oh may pigs fly out of the sky and poop on their heads.
Nothing left to do but look in the cafe myself. We drive there and My Sweet lets me jump out of the car while he seeks a parking spot. I run in and check my table, and hiding under a customer's foot was my bag. One of the fishnet players said, "Oh sweetie, if we had seen it there we would have totally held it for you."
I guess the adage is true. Never have more than one drink at your boss' party, no matter if you don't have to teach in the morning. And don't judge a book by its cover
Joie de Vivre ~ A Hearty Joy of Living!
