When you’ve gotta go…

I lost my wallet yesterday.

The cherubs and I were at the ALDI checkout, a couple of dozen grocery items jolting along the conveyor belt toward the cashier when I looked at my hands and realised both were sans wallet. As were all my pockets – both jacket and pants.

Assuming I’d left my wallet in the car, I sent Cherubs 1 and 2 with the keys, to retrieve it. While they were gone, I made it to the front of the queue and Cherub3 helped me bag the items as each was scanned.

The lovely check-out guy rang up the total… then Cherub 1 arrived back with the bad news. They couldn’t find the wallet; Cherub 2 had remained in the car and was still searching, and where did I think they should look next?

Apologising profusely to both the lovely check-out guy and the man waiting in line behind me, I left Cherubs 1 and 3 in the store with our groceries; the check-out guy suspended the sale, and I raced out to join Cherub 2 in what was to be a thorough but fruitless rampage through the car.

No wallet.

If you know me, you’d know just how much panic would normally be ensuing at this point in time.

And yet – it wasn’t.

Reason being? It was 4pm after my most-full-on day at work. The day where I start at 7am and literally don’t get a minute to myself until 2.50pm- and yesterday, even that minute didn’t happen. I therefore found myself in the middle of a missing-wallet-dilemma, and all I could think about was how soon I’d be able to extricate myself and find a ladies room.

Man, oh man, was I ever regretting the whole ‘drink plenty of water, it’ll cleanse out your system’ regimen I’d decided to try!

So there I was, turning my car as inside-out as is physically possible, and although the back of my mind was trying to tell me that ‘Losing my wallet was a Very Serious Situation that I’d need to deal with, pronto’, my bodily urges were saying, ‘Nuh-uh! My problem trumps yours, bucko!’ And the bodily urges were winning.

Long story short, I was back at the checkout with Cherub1 – Cherubs 2 and 3 safely ensconced in the back seat of the car, groceries paid for with the generous assistance of an old friend who God had just-so-happened to have take out the right amount of money and shop there at that particular time – when the lovely check-out guy (who’d taken my name and number when I’d scoured every aisle, looking)┬ácalled me over and told me a wallet had been handed in.

Yes, it was mine. So I could pay back my friend, pack the groceries and Cherub1 into the car, and make it to a ladies room in time.

Relief all ’round!

Moral of the story? Not entirely sure. It’s good to know that God’s in control, maybe? And does every story even need to have a moral? Who knows. Perhaps what every reader gets out of a story is different, anyway…?

Anyway, just thought I’d share that with you this morning.

Here’s wishing you a wonderful week, dear reader!

— KRidwyn