So once again, my mind apparently went on another mini-vacation and left me behind. How come I can so clearly remember that time when wee little Brian fell down on the stump that Uncle Gary had in his backyard for splitting wood for the stove, caught his cheekbone right on the edge of it, swelled up half his face, blacked both his eyes, looked like a child-abuse victim, looked so bad I was ashamed/afraid to take him in to town for almost 2 weeks, afraid I’d get arrested – I can still see it all so clearly AND yet can’t remember if I ate breakfast this morning. I remember the sound of a motorcycle like it was yesterday. I remember hearing the sounds of choppers coming into Saigon. And I lose my freakin’ debit card. It makes me question my “responsibility.” Can I be trusted to handle a responsible job? Should I be permitted to operate equipment? Drive the car? Pour coffee? So by the time poor husband got home Saturday night, expecting an exquisitely prepared lovely dinner, I was like a maniac, having torn the entire house practically to rubble, distraught and questioning my sanity (he wasn’t questioning anything at all; he was sure it was gone). And there was no dinner. In fact, when he walked in the door, I looked up from unpacking the summer clothes that I had just packed, in case the damn debit card had fallen in there and then I go and store it away until next April, for heaven’s sake. I looked up and the loving greeting he got was, “Oh, shit, is it that late already?” because no dinner had been started. And we couldn’t even run down to the Taco Bell because I didn’t have a f..king debit card. So methodical Husband figures he’s got to take over and solve this or a) there’ll never be another meal prepared, b) I won’t shut the hell up about “where could that card be,” and c) he could possibly get blamed for losing it as he was the one that went into the beer store with the debit card. So he gets a beer and starts to think. And then gets another beer. Sunday morning – still no card. Obviously, it’s going to have to be cancelled, he says. But, oh, I’ve got so much automatic billing and payments tied to that card. It’s gonna be weeks/months before I get this straightened out. Like I really need one more thing to stress about!! He continues to think logically, knowing me pretty well. He’s getting ready to go to work. I’m folding laundry, a never-ending chore here. He goes into the bathroom to shower, shave, etc. In our bathroom, between the toilet and the shower stall, I have a decorative square wicker basket, maybe 24″ square and that tall, with a lid. I keep extra bathroom tissue inside, handy to grab from right where you need it, and often there are folded towels on top, in hopes that Paul will grab one of them WHILE STILL IN THE SHOWER so that water doesn’t drip all over the floor. So while getting ready for work, he finds my debit card!! Near as we can piece together, on Wednesdsay, I returned from pizza and a few beers, brain already on a mini-vacation and still in a better different century. Himself had handed me debit card and receipt from the beer purchase, probably while we were still in the car or immediately after we came through the door. I came in the house and went directly to the “facility.” I was wearing jeans. It would seem that I put the debit card down on the towels in order to take care of business. He admits to folding and putting some towels there on Thursday when I was at work, apparently directly on top of the debit card which admittedly shouldn’t have been there at all. I put more towels on top of “his” towels when I was doing laundry after work on Friday. Paul figured this out on Sunday morning while sitting there himself. As he put it, he does some of his best thinking while on the shitter, after the pressure is released off his brain. Me? I think I’ll stay back in my long ago, back when my brain worked better and I could remember stuff.
