Returning home from our wine tasting tour we disembarked and cheerily asserted that, “Yes, we have all of our belongings.”
I did not. My wallet was AWOL. There was a five-minute check and recheck and scramble, but alas, it was absent. Thankfully one of us had the phone number for our super-chill driver and we called him. Although not thrilled to return to us in rush hour traffic, he did stop his van, locate my wallet and bring it back. A lovely cash donation made it worth his time and my peace of mind.
The real question is, “Why do my friends allow me to carry the only access we have to our abode, the garage door opener?” (I failed to inform them of the time I left my purse hanging on the back of the bathroom door at a rest stop on the interstate.)
It always works out. We’re all combobulated again.