I’d rather leave the house naked than to leave without my pocketbook. It’s my identity, my medicine cabinet, my first aid kit, my cosmetic department, and my husband’s glove compartment. I never leave home without it.
~Sandi
After the softball tournament was over, my husband and I grabbed a bite to eat at a nearby restaurant before making the two-hour drive back home. Ugh! It might as well be twenty-four. And after every ball game, my husband plays it, again and again, all the way home: He should have caught that ball! The bases were loaded, all we needed was one good hit! He was safe! What’s the matter with that ump?!
And I’m thinking, give it a rest. I’m trying to sleep over here!
But I can’t sleep. My head bobs like a silly bobble head, and my husband keeps interrupting my snoring. So, to keep my mind occupied, I envision how I’m going to rearrange the living room tomorrow or redecorate the den. Maybe I’ll wash the windows, and hang new curtains in the kitchen. I think I’ll paint my bathroom, too. It needs brightening up. And the cabinets. I’m tired of that beige color. I think I’ll paint them white, and then . . .
Finally! Two more miles and we’re home. I gathered my snack bags, sweater, and cushion, then reached down to get my pocketbook on the floorboard.
OH, NO!
I looked under the seat. On the back seat. Under the back seat. It’s just not here! It’s not here! It’s back there, three thousand miles away!
Moaning like a pair of sick cows, we turned around and raced back to the restaurant. Like a broken record, over and over, I prayed, “Please, God! Let someone find my pocketbook and turn it in!”
It was turned in! Nothing was taken except our precious time: two hours to the ball tournament, two hours back home, two more hours back to the restaurant, and two more hours back home. What a day! What a long, stressful, nail-biting, hard-lesson-learned tiring day!
Straight From the Heart 