Yesterday, my mother called me in a panic, screaming that she had lost her wallet while she was out running errands. I immediately rushed home from Barnes and Noble in order to help her look for it (and partially because I was terrified that she was going to have a god damn heart attack).
She explained to me that she, like myself, had been running errands all day and that it could be anywhere. By the time I arrived at the house, she was in tears, stressed out and turning the contents of her purse and other bags inside out.
I stepped over the plethora of receipts my mother has been known to keep as though they will one day be our currency and took her in my arms, “It’s going to be all right, mom. I promise. Where were you last?”
I sat with my mother, attempting to retrace her steps and where she had gone throughout the day and I told her to wait at home while I traveled back and attempted to look for the wallet.
After a half hour of searching, she called to tell me she had found it in the trunk of her car. Relieved, exhausted and now late for work, I got in my car and went to work.
Nine hours later, I discovered a horrible turn of events…somehow, some way, I had lost my wallet.
Son of a mother fucking bitch, I thought to myself as I tore through my car, ransacked my room and took apart all the secret hiding places where I keep valuables. Nothing. My beautiful, gorgeous and limited fucking edition Michael Kors Black Continental wallet was fucking gone.