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The scariest thing just happened…

I went to grab my wallet out of my room, and it was not there. Now, when my wallet is not in my room, it is in my back pocket. But since it was not there either, I immediately went wonky.

I looked around the apartment and it was nowhere. Then I looked again, in places I would not think to look the first time. I looked in the laundry room, where I was doing laundry tonight. Nothing.

I know I’m having memory difficulties more these days (I could not remember my chiropractor’s name this morning and had to look him up in my Palm under, of course, “chiropractor”), but to lose my wallet completely was not right.

To top things off, I was flying to Skywalker Ranch tomorrow to see long-time contributor to this Forum, John, and to see Episode III. What would I do without a wallet? My passport would work for flying, but not for the car rental. And I’d have no money since I’m leaving before the banks open…

My God. A nightmare was brewing. A nightmare. But I thought of Paris, and me misreading my itinerary, and I knew, whatever the outcome, there was nothing to be done, so panic was not in order. Oh, and The Hitchhiker’s Guide certainly had nothing to do with “Don’t Panic,” either, I’m almost mostly entirely sure.

I could not even properly remember exactly when I last used my wallet. I took out receipts to do my Quicken, but then what?

There were footsteps behind me when I walked to the mail box to deposit my late rent check (I forgot about rent this month… see?). The footsteps stopped after I rounded a corner. Was my wallet stolen from me? Did some guy who was bad at muffling his nefarious footsteps snatch it out of my loosey-goosey pocket and make a run for it?

No, that was too stupid.

The only thing I could think was my shorts. These shorts I’m wearing have a lousy back pocket. In fact, all day today, I made sure to button the back pocket because my wallet lies in it like a marble in a cupcake tin. One wrong move, and out it can pop. It had never happened, but I could tell by the design that it was one day inevitable.

That had to be it. I hoped. Then I hoped it didn’t fall out near the mailbox on Wilshire. That wallet would be long gone by now…

I put the batteries in my Mag-Lite—I keep them out ’cause I use it so rarely and don’t want the batteries to corrode and ruin the thing—and went outside.

I felt stupid looking alongside the sidewalk that runs parallel to my building. Making my way back to the laundry room, I saw moist weeds, a cute snail nearly safely across the path, and a few young strawberries on our semi-new ground cover that was installed to please building inspectors last year…

At the very corner of the patch of green and brown, there it was. My wallet was plopped askew in some weeds of some kind.

Whew. WHEW! Major whew. That was lucky. Why it had fallen out there and not somewhere outside of the sphere of our relatively calm apartment bubble, I don’t know. Guess I was just lucky this time.

I brought the wallet back in, pulled the D-cells out of the Mag-Lite, and felt relieved. Saved again from folly. I could fly tomorrow without trouble.

I just hope the wallet dries out by the morning. A wet ass on a plane is not something I want to endure.

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