Yesterday was April Fool’s Day. Typically, I don’t participate. Rarely has anyone attempted to prank me. And for myself, coming up with an intelligent, classy prank that is truly funny, to all parties involved, is far easier said than done. Hence, I don’t bother.
However, this year, I borderline managed to prank myself. It was a long game, quite masterfully executed. And the fact that it came to fruition on APRIL FOOl’S DAY of all days makes it all the more ironic. . . dare I say, poetic. I almost wish my husband had been in on it, because then I would have some face left to save.
Saturday my husband and I unexpectedly decided to go see a movie. Because, it was unexpected we (mostly me. . . Okay just me) were a tad harried getting out door to make the showing. It was in this moment I realized, I was unable to locate my wallet. It’s a small leather thing, usually found in a man’s pocket. I appreciate it’s unobtrusive size and the resulting fact that it fits in most women’s grossly undersized pockets. ( What is up with women’s clothes??) We departed to the movie, and I determined to locate the missing wallet at a later time.
Sunday came and went; I gave little thought to the wallet, because there was no pressing need for it. Monday, I resolved to run all the errands. Upon readying to leave the house, I realize I still have no idea where my wallet is. So I begin looking in all the obvious places, a few places that I had checked Saturday, when I couldn’t find it. The coffee table, the kitchen table, the catch all end table, the key basket, pants pockets, the bathroom, my backpack, my purse, my other purse, the backpack again, the counter, the floor, the couch cushions. Bear in mind the longer this goes the more irritated, frustrated and anxious I become. It occurs to me, that the last time I clearly remember having it was Thursday evening. I had to pick up a few items from PetSmart. With a bit of horror, I wonder if perhaps it fell out of my pocket at PetSmart or Food Lion or Chick-fil-A. My husband and I went far and wide Thursday night and now I’m considering that maybe my wallet. . . Is in Asheboro. (That’s an hour and a half from where I live, for those of you who don’t know)
Panic is starting to set in. I know, this was an overreaction, but only now do I remember that not only do I have my magic plastic cards but I also have a magic plastic,work card. I’m mortified to have to tell my boss that maybe someone of nefarious character has her card and it’s this chick’s fault.
I begin taking drastic measures. I check my bank account for extra activity, nothing. Contact my boss, explain what’s happened, she checks the work card, nothing. Phew. . . That’s a load off my mind. I head into town feeling naked without my license. Meet my husband for lunch and make (he volunteered) him call all the businesses we visited on Thursday. Maybe someone found it and turned it in, nothing. Maybe someone found it and will mail it to me. I don’t know, stranger things have happened. But how long do I wait?
My husband rechecks my car, which I’ve already checked twice. I check his truck. I return to our home, my husband’s credit card in hand so I can put gas in my car. At home I check all the places again. And attempt to distract myself with cleaning, putting groceries away, and baking.
Eventually, my husband makes it home, later than usual because of the errands he helped me run in the middle of the day; because I didn’t have my wallet. We eat dinner, I go check some of my husband’s pants pockets, the fridge,
and I continue to lament my missing wallet, wondering aloud on what steps I should take next. How long do I wait before replacing everything? I lock my card, just to be safe, and text my boss to suggest she do the same. And my husband asks me.
“What about your back pack?”
“Checked it twice. But please, check again.”
He goes to the bedroom, where the the backpack has been since Thursday night. He emerges, backpack in one hand, wallet in the other. . . . . .
I text my boss back, not five minutes after telling her to lock her card, to tell her the crisis is averted.
April Fool’s, Isabel. . . . .April. Fools.
Here’s a picture of my cat. It’s her fault, we were in Ashboro.
