With the warmer weather this weekend, I traded in my warm coat for a trench. After belting it, I stuck my hands in the pockets…and found my camera!!!! It had been missing since the night of my birthday celebration in October! I had no idea where it was and even though I had a great time with the girls, I was fairly positive that I hadn’t blacked out that night and lost it. Finding the camera has now made my week. Not only because I LOVE the camera, but because I now get to see the photos from my own birthday party!
Losing things is somewhat of an art form for me. Mostly because I dont really lose things. Since they usually turn up later, it’s technically more accurate to say I misplace them. In the meantime, I’ve gone through all the drama, all the searching, for absolutely no reason.
In sixth grade, on one of my first days to carry a key and let myself into our home, I was at our door, digging in my backpack for the key. Mom was home early, and seeing me rooting through the bag, she scowled, assuming that I had lost the key. I quickly explained that the key was in my backpack. I just needed to find it. She told me I’d better find the key before she came back. I knew what that warning meant and I spiraled into panic mode, started crying, got manic and totally lost focus. So of course when she returned with the belt, I hadn’t found the key. Later that night, after pulling myself together, I found the key, right in the zipper pocket of my backpack (where I had put it that morning).*
It’s not just keys. Last year, a crown popped off my tooth while I was eating sticky candy (not allowed, I know). I was in Florida at the time and somehow managed to get the crown all the way back to New York. But when I showed up at my dentist’s office, I couldn’t find it. I gave it a couple of weeks for the crown to find its way back to me. But alas it didn’t, so I had to pay to replace the blasted thing. Of course, six months later the crown turns up in my desk drawer at work — which would have been a puzzling (and disgusting) discovery for anyone but me — and at that point, it was totally useless and I can never get that $300 back.
Once, as a gift, Mom sent a book she thought I’d like along with some cash. She was absolutely right — I did like the book! In fact, I’d already bought and read it. I returned the book to B&N. The next day, I can’t find the hundred dollar bill. I’m convinced that I must have put the money in the book. On a date that night, instead of having dinner at some restaurant I probably wouldn’t have liked anyway, I talked the guy into sifting through a stack of books at Barnes & Noble, helping me search for the money. He really scored high in the patience category (I would’ve been outta there after the first five books). Three weeks later, the money turned up. It was sitting right on a dining room chair in my apartment.
The good part of all of this is that the items turn back up — eventually. The bad part is, I’m clearly not very talented at looking for lost things.
*Years later, as an adult, I complained to Mom about what I felt was unjust treatment in that situation. She said, without regret, that it taught me how to think under pressure and she doubted I’d ever choke in the clutch. Maybe not. But I’m still losing my keys.