I managed to *forget* *my* *pocketbook* this morning. This, for most women (or at least for me), is like forgetting one’s arm.
How, you ask, could this happen (you’re probably trying to wipe the image of my arm laying on the livingroom floor from your head, aren’t you?) . Well, last night after yoga, Jeff and I made our typical fast food run (it cancels out, doesn’t it? ;-) and on the way into the house he grabbed my pocketbook, as I had my hands full of sodas (and a Jamocha milkshake [double bonus points if you now know which fast food we ate]). When we got inside he put the bag down, only he didn’t put it down where I normally put it down, he put it a whopping three feet to the left.
Yes, folks, my bag being three feet in the wrong direction is apparently enough to throw me. I did, however, remember to grab my lunch, so I suppose I’m coming out even for the day.
I realized that I’d forgotten it as I was walking into work, wondering why my load was so light. Upon figuring it out (and after the panic stopped), I started inventorying what was in the purse that I might need: PDA … no that’s ok, it’s all in Outlook; WALLET… no, brought my lunch and know my credit card number by heart (ah, the telltale mark of an online shopper); cell phone … no won’t need it ’till I’m out of work anyway, as the reception inside the building sucks.). Hm. I *can* survive a day without my purse!