I do all I can to be an average American. Like spending 55 minutes a day looking for things I own, but can’t find.
My long black coat sweater would have been perfect to wear to the funeral home. I changed from black sweat pants to black dress pants. Brushed my hair and teeth. Went to the closet to put on my sweater. It wasn’t there. It should’ve been hanging beside my red sweater. I quickly surveyed the hanging clothes in my closet, and then I touched every coat hanger near where that black sweater usually hangs. It wasn’t there.
I glanced at something black that was folded and lay on the edge of the bathtub. The sweat pants I’d just taken off. I looked in the hallway coat closet. It wasn’t there. I grabbed a tan jacket and headed to the funeral home.
My mind wandered during the funeral service. I really liked that sweater coat. I’d worn it with blue jeans for grocery shopping and dressed it up for church wear. And I’d bought it as a souvenir on a trip. How could I be so careless? Where did I last wear it?
When I returned home, I did another search through closets. Then I remembered. A few days before, I had attended a club meeting at a friend’s home and later went out for supper. I called Jennie. Did I leave my sweater at her house? No.
I called the restaurant. After I briefly explained that I’d misplaced something and hoped it was there, a sweet young woman said, “Oh, I understand. We have lots of lost items.” I described my sweater. “There are several black things behind the cash register. It’s probably here. I’ll look and be right back,” she said.
I hit the speaker on my phone and put on my tan jacket and gathered my purse and car keys. Smugly, I waited to hear exactly where to retrieve my sweater. Thank goodness, the restaurant was only a couple of miles away.
“Well, there are three black things. Two sweaters. One is a man’s. One, a woman’s short sweater,” the sweet young woman said.
I wasn’t ready to take no for an answer and asked, “What about the other black thing?”
“It’s a lightweight golf jacket.”
After mumbling thanks and hanging up the phone, I slumped into a living room chair. “What’s going on?” Husband asked. I shared the whole two-hour story. Blah, blah, blah. From getting dressed to go to the funeral home to the lightweight golf jacket.
Husband nodded, turned, and walked out of the living room. Frustrated and mad at myself, I didn’t move. Minutes later, Husband held up my black sweater jacket. “This one?”
It was exactly where I’d left it. Draped over the side of the bathtub beside the black sweat pants. Isn’t that where most lost things are? Exactly where we left them?
At least, I’d spent twice the average 55 minutes searching so maybe the next day I wouldn’t search for anything. Wishful thinking.
Filed under: Everyday Life | Tagged: average american, black sweater, lost | 2 Comments »
Susan Writes 