I’ve Lost It!

Where is it? I cannot find it. I knew this would happen. I was certain of it.  The darn thing is so small, after all. Who can blame me for losing it? Especially since it didn’t belong to me. It was bound to happen!

I search where I last saw it. In my purse. But then I like to change out purses, so I check them all. Every single compartment of every purse, even the ones I haven’t used in years because you never know. Nada.

As far as I know, Henry has never lost anything and doesn't understand what the fuss is about.

Wait. I remember thinking that leaving it in my purse was too risky—and I moved it. I put it in a dish in the dining room area. No, wait! I put it in a cup, or was it a little ceramic snowman box that I’d put out for the holidays? Darn it! I just packed up all the holiday paraphernalia, which means I won’t find it until next year!

No, wait. I remember thinking it would be silly to put it in a holiday container knowing that I would soon be packing it away. Whew. I did, however, put it somewhere. Wait! I remember telling my daughter to watch me put it in—where was it? Well, she’ll know! All I have to do is ask her and she’ll remember because she’s young and has the mind of a—

Good grief! I just asked her and she has no idea! She doesn’t remember me asking her to watch me put it away in the safe place. No, wait!

She just remembered. I did ask her and it was somewhere in the living room. Or was it the kitchen? Or, did I leave it with Colonel Mustard in the conservatory?

I search and I search, leaving no stone unturned as well as no pot, no blender, no sofa and no coffee table. I will find it, I will find it, I will find it. That’s my mantra.

I can’t find it. I can’t find it. It’s not here! It grew legs and walked out. Left the house in a bold move, taunting me, daring me to find it. No wait!

Maybe it’s upstairs. Yeah, that’s the ticket. I must have taken it upstairs without realizing it. Maybe it clung to my clothing or fell into my jeans’ pocket. I will search upstairs and I’m sure to find it. I have to. After all, it’s not mine!

Oh, why did anyone entrust me to hold it for them? Don’t they know I have too much on my mind and can’t remember every detail, like what I wore yesterday, much less, where I’ve placed things? It started with my first pregnancy, which sucked the brain cells right out of my head. Losing things just  became old hat to me. It’s a wonder I have anything left!

It’s not upstairs. I have searched high and low, backwards and forwards, and to and fro.

I have questioned my children, one at a time. I even tried to trip them up to see if they’d confess. No dice.

My daughter asks, “So how much is this thing worth anyway?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“You’ve been looking all day, so I imagine it must cost a lot to replace.”

“That’s not the point.”

“How much?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How much?” She persists.

“Okay–okay! It cost $20! Are you happy?”

“Then just get her a new one and stop this crazy search!”

Crazy? You don’t know crazy! Were it that easy. I have so much at stake. I’ve invested so much time already. I can’t stop.

I can’t stop!

I must find it or admit defeat. It has to be here, it just has to!

It’s not here. It’s simply not here. I must stop. I have to stop.


I didn’t check the garage. I bet it’s there! Yeah, that’s the ticket!

Gotta look. Gotta go!

So, tell me. Has this ever happened to you?