This afternoon I had the rare opportunity to get groceries by myself. I even drove out of my way to WalMart to get some good prices. I carefully picked out all the stuff I need to make my portion of Thanksgiving dinners this weekend and waited in long lines of others doing the same thing. Then I looked in my purse and realized…I didn’t have my wallet. I was so many things, but the two major emotions were embarrassment and frustration at the wasted time and effort. I was sure I had grabbed my wallet! Then as I made the walk of shame out of the store, leaving frustrated clerks behind, I had a thought: maybe my wallet was stolen. I hadn’t been super careful, and I my purse is one of those pick-pocket’s dreams: just a big open hole at the top, with my wallet peeking through. So, all the way home I panicked about who I should call first, how much cash was in there? What if they charge up videos on my Blockbuster account? When I got home and saw my wallet on the table, I was so relieved that my wallet wasn’t stolen that I didn’t care so much about the wasted afternoon.
Kind of like when I got a tattoo in college, I thought I should tell my parents that I was pregnant and going to Vegas to elope. Then in their mute stupor, I would say: Just kidding! I only got a tattoo! No big deal, right?!