I lost my phone yesterday. I went out for a drink and wanted to call my husband, but there was no phone in my bag. Must have left it in the car, I thought, with a hint of anxiety. I hardly ever leave it in the car, except when I go swimming, for obvious reasons.
When I got home, I called myself on my husband’s phone, but the familiar ‘quack’ (that’s my ringtone) was nowhere to be heard.
After a sleepless night, I rushed back to the place where I used it last. The building was empty but open. I looked under every chair, on every table, and rummaged through a box with personal belongings. My heart sank. Bye-bye thousand-dollar phone.
With my tail between my legs, I passed a small table where people leave brochures. The corner of a familiar-looking object peeked out from under a typed sheet. My phone! It had secretly and wisely hidden itself under some brochures.
I was overjoyed. I walked out of the building unseen and unheard. Like the CIA after a successful covert operation, except I hadn’t killed anyone.
This seems to be a recurring theme in my life. A while ago, I lost my favorite pair of sunglasses, the ones I bought in Paris for a hundred euros during a bout of temporary insanity.
It happened while I was walking my diminutive dog in the forest. I was awake most of the night and kept hearing this little voice calling out to me: ‘I am here! I am here! Please find me’, like one of the shrunken kids in the movie ‘Honey, I Shrunk the Kids’. Read more...
