Of course you have. Otherwise you wouldn’t want to read my blog. Today I got midway through my Thanksgiving marketing in another town when I realized that my wallet was gone.
Why freak about losing your wallet? It’s happened so many times before and the world keeps on rotating just the same. You know it is probably in your husband’s car or on the kitchen counter stuffed with receipts so that the top flap flaps open like a wide-mouthed frog. And yet it is always a terrible shock. You are not just losing the cards and money and photos in your wallet. No--
Losing your wallet always feels like so much more than just losing your wallet. It’s a statement. It’s an omen. It’s the loose thread that, if pulled, will unravel the fabric of the entire universe or at least your own life. Have you pulled that thread?
When I got home the wallet was on the side of my bathroom sink flapping hello. The universe has not unraveled but my refrigerator is still bare.
7 comments:
What a wonderful start. Losing one's wallet for me is the loss of so many intimate objects that one forgets are so hard or impossible to replace. I am looking forward to more.
oh that's a great subject.
i've lost my wallet a thousand times, all in nyc.
And 998 times, it's been returned.
From the lowest of the low to the hightest of the high feelings -
plus getting to go to the offices of Miss Chinese America to go pick it up.
keep going, your writing is wonderful, as always.
xoxox, im-fan
I can so relate. It has been a while since I lost--er, mislaid-- my wallet, but hardly a day goes by that I am not looking for some essential-keys, cellphone, shoes . . . . Glad this had a happy ending!
Love, p
Now Immy's made me WANT to lose my wallet, so I can meet Miss Chinese America...
Unfortunately Immy is the only one who would have her wallet rescued by Miss Chinese America. The rest of us would have to pick ours up from an accountant's office in Queens (not that there's anything wrong with that!)
my favorite lost wallet was a black, slim, lizard-skin French purse from a Mark Cross employee sale, stamped with someone else's initials (worth $1,000 had it not been for the errant initials).
Twice, I drove away with it on top of the car roof; once abandoned it on the bar of LaGamelle; another time, in a Mexican resturant on the upper east side at happy hour, I discovered it, with my entire handbag, missing, only to receive a call in the middle of the night from a homeless man with the happy news that he had found it, minus cash but credit cards intact, in a trash can on 3rd Ave. Somehow it always found its way home to me.
Finally, 9 months pregnant, on my way to the final lamaze class at Beth Israel, it was lifted from my bag on a packed IRT train. I discovered its absence when I went to pay the cab, & I remember the cab driver was ill-humored about it.
It always seemed fitting to me that my luck ran out at this point in my life. I have not found that motherhood lends itself easily to terribly elegant lizardskin purses.
Some day the days of wine and roses and lizardskin wallets shall return...it's a life cyle thing...
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