The Saga of the Thought-Stolen Purse

Note: This event happened some years ago, and yes, I’m still married to the guy. And for the record, I didn’t even change the names to protect the innocent.

My day starts out great. I have Toastmasters at seven-thirty; and at ten till seven,  I’m ahead of schedule.  I gather my books, prepared to grab my purse off the counter, tucked inconspicuously inside my gray Adidas gym bag. After Toastmasters, you see, I’m off to the gym.

Only problem is when I scan the counter on this start to a perfect day, my bag is missing. I can swear I left it right there. Obviously mistaken, I search my usual places—my office, bedroom, the car. My gray Adidas gym bag is nowhere to be found.
The minutes tick by and I start to sweat. Now I’ll be late for Toastmasters. I call my husband at work. “Have you seen the gray gym bag I left on the counter?”
“No,” he says in a clipped voice. “Very busy, honey.”
I hang up, stressed, and on the verge of hyperventilation. The gym bag in itself doesn’t worry me; it’s my drivers’ license and the valuables inside. Where can it be? I know I left it right here. But now I’m not so sure. Could I have left it at the gym? I must have. I pick up the phone.
“No, ma’am,” an employee says at my query. “It’s not in the lost in found and we don’t see it in the locker room either.”
My great day continues to dwindle.
With no other choice, I search my house a second time, and when I’m positive it isn’t anywhere inside, I phone my husband again. “Les, are you sure, you haven’t seen a gray Adidas gym bag? I know you’re busy, but it’s really important. My purse was inside that bag.”

“No,” he replies adamantly. “I haven’t seen it.”

I scour the house a third time; I miss Toastmasters, becoming more agitated by the second. I came straight home from the gym yesterday. I made no stops. And now my poor little ol’ mother in law is in on the action, determined to help. She looks everywhere, including the freezer and the bathtub.

 

Yep, I’ve been known to put my gym bag in those places!

 

During our rummaging, I walk into the den and discover a navy gym bag on the couch. Frowning, I unzip it, discovering my DH’s running shoes and his workout clothes inside. Frankly, I’m ashamed of myself. I’m jealous that while my gray Adidas bag has gone missing, he still has all of his gear.

All right. My bag is not in the house, it’s not at the gym, and I went nowhere yesterday. It’s been stolen. Time to call the security company that patrols my neighborhood. The officer reports no calls of intruders, but says a few cars in our area have been broken into.

That has to be it!  I call my neighbors, my critique partner and we connect the dots. While Les and I were out taking a walk last night, someone entered our house. Thinking it was empty, he became startled when he heard my mother in law. In his haste, he took the closest thing within reach–my Gray Adidas gym bag.

I spend the rest of the morning canceling my checks and my credit cards, totally creeped out at the thought of someone invading my home.

With everything canceled, I breathe a sigh of relief and tell myself it could have been worse. At least no one accessed my credit.

Determined to move on from this disastrous morning, I pause to answer the phone. It’s my husband. He’s on his way to his run. He’s calling to inform me he’s taken the wrong gym bag. His, you see, is on the couch, while mine is in the backseat of his car!

Before you take undue sympathy and ask if my husband is colorblind, the answer is no. But he is the victim in my next murder plot.