I was pumping gas and trying not to mess up my freshly painted nails, so of course I dropped the gas pump, spurting fuel around. By the time I got that hose under control, I was glad to be a nonsmoker decided I wasn't wet and flammable and I got on my way. Upon my arrival back at "House," I started gathering the million bags I always come back from Warwick with and my pocketbook felt awfully light. Then, it all came flashing back.
I always put my wallet on the trunk when I use my credit card to pump gas,
and in all that hose commotion, I forgot to take it with me back in the car.
So, like any good Salve girl, I called my daddy and begged him to go look for it, since I was now 45 minutes away from Warwick. Thank God he responded with concern and not the "what the hellll do you want me to do about it" that I usually expect. In the meantime, I was greeted by snapping hungry dogs that make NO attempt to NOT pee in the house, and what has to be a dozen fruity bats howling in the trees next to my front door. Who am I, and what am I doing here?
I did what anyone in my position would do. Screamed frivolously out the door at the bats to shut the fuck up, told the dogs I hate them and cracked open the last Smirnoff when I realized that I can't even watch the fucking Red Sox opener because I LIVE IN THE WOODS AND I HAVE NO CABLE.
Don't worry, though, at least one of my problems is solved because, like a good Daddy, my father found my wallet on Veterans Memorial Boulevard. Imagine if I had to cancel my nearly maxxed credit cards.