Lost in Manhattan

I have lost my wallet. Have you seen it? The last place I saw it was on my desk at work. I noticed it missing before I got on the subway home. (Thankfully, I keep my subway and train passes separately.) Despite this extraordinarily limited scope of places, it has not turned up, despite my trekking all over the place to find it. Building security hasn’t turned it up, which leaves me to think that where ever I stupidly left it, it grew feet and I shall never see it again.

I prefer to think I left it someplace – the alternative would be awful, even if there were a lot of strangers in the office that day. Either way, it’s my fault for not being more careful. As I have now just appeased Murphy by canceling my bank cards, I hope that I shall find it shortly in some totally hare-brained place like the freezer. (Which I have already checked. Three times.)

It’s amazing the amount of stress and anxiety that this has caused – though I find that a big part of me is just sad that I lost the actual wallet, because I’d finally found an organizational system that really worked for me. Now I have to go hunting for a new wallet (well, as soon as I can access my bank accounts again and, y’know, buy something), which will inevitably mean buying several that don’t quite work. If you need a new hand-me-down wallet, the time to befriend me is now.

On the other hand, it’s a great excuse to be late with my father’s day present. You don’t mind, do you, Dad?

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