We carry epic amounts of stuff back and forth between the cars and our house. Groceries. Laundry. Work. Dry Cleaning. Coffee. Random Projects. Lucy. I say we because I usually rope Alek into my Grocery/Laundry/Work/Dry Cleaning/Coffee/Random Project/Lucy carrying escapades.
One of the things in this whole pile of crap I cart back and forth is usually my GIANT handbag. In fact, I don’t really own a small handbag. People make fun of my bag. When I travel it leaves bruises on my shoulders. I blame 92% of any future neck problems on it.
So, I have the week off. I decide I’m going to be footloose and fancy free and downsize my bag. So I pull out this little number. Well, technically, I pull this little number out of the huge bag I’ve been carrying around the last few weeks. I love this clutch. It’s purple. It’s alligator patent leather. It’s big enough to carry the necessary cards, cash, a phone, dark blue Extra gum and lip balm for afternoon kisses.
So, Thursday we decide to walk up to the Chow Truck for lunch. And I can’t find my footloose and fancy free clutch. Anywhere. After frantically searching through all of the bags I’d hauled up the night before, and searching through the GIANT bag said clutch was in prior, still no dice.
And then it hit me. It must still be in the car. In the car in the garage where any car with anything left visible is broken into without fail.
So we wander (and by wander, I mean walk very, very quickly, and with extreme purpose) down to the garage and as we round the corner we see it. A pile of rock climbing and mountain biking and backpacking gear and all manner of other items strewn about on the garage floor. And the passenger door of the car three stalls down is slightly open, and the phone charger cable is spilling out onto the ground. There is definitely something amiss. Oh yes, the car THREE STALLS DOWN FROM MINE has been broken into. (3rd time this year – although for the record he does leave a lot of crap in his car, tempting the fates/drug addicts/black-market outdoor equipment resellers.)
I run to my car and there it is. Be still my beating heart. The footloose and fancy free clutch is there, on the floor, in front of the passenger seat.
Damn the kinked neck and the ongoing mocking that I am sure to receive. THIS IS WHY I CARRY A HUMONGOUS HANDBAG.
Needless to say, I bought lunch.