Gratitude……Gratitude……All I can think of is how angry and depleted I feel. Gratitude…..Gratitude…..C’mon, I know you’re in there somewhere. Show yourself, already. Don’t make me do all the work, I am not in the mood.
Yesterday, gratitude was all over the place. My friend Leah, who used to be my roommate back in the day, when i lived on Newbury Street, and I, went to Crane’s Beach. It was absolute heaven, despite the fact that it was pretty cold, and we ultimately got sand stormed right out of there. But do not fear, because Woodman’s was near, and Leah is all about the lobster roll.
So, off we drove to the famed Woodman’s, where Leah got herself a big fat lobster roll, and a plate of fries, and we headed outside to sit at a sunny picnic table (I did not get my usual Woodman’s order on account of my icky stomach problems, and ate Whole Foods chicken that I’d brought from home, with some fruit.) I salivated at the site of the lobsters. I sang an Ode to the fried scallops, and pledged allegiance to the United States of Onion rings, but I was still feeling grateful to be with my friend nonetheless, on the first weekend of official summer, and to be laughing our silly heads off, like we always do when we hang out.
We drove home, yakking away. Emptying out the car of our beachy belongings is when I first realized my pocket book was not in the car. Panic stuck in my throat. My eyes began to bulge like Marty Feldman. I must have left my bag in the only two places that I had it, the bathroom at Woodman’s, or at that picnic table. Someone must have found it, Leah assured me. Frantically, I called, explained the situation, hoping the woman would say that yes, someone had just brought it to the counter. But instead she said she’d check and call me back. When no call came, Leah called them back, as I tried not to freak the fuck out (it was a losing battle). It was then I realized my car keys, or rather Peter’s car keys (Peter and Ally took my car to a soccer tournament in New Jersey) were in my bag (I had parked at her house in Newton and she had driven). And now for the big finish: they were the only set.
I called the Essex police, told them what happened, in case anybody might bring the bag into the police station. They had an officer contact me, who said he’d go and look around, but he never called me back, so I assume he didn’t find anything but a long line of people waiting to eat fried food.
I can’t really believe it, but someone actually stole my pocketbook at Woodman’s, where I have stuffing myself silly, post beach, for the last 30 years.
I spent the night, alternately crying like a non-compliant two year old who does not want to eat her mashed peas, and laughing with Leah, who had used her AAA (gifted yearly by her dad, big Will, who just passed a few months ago) to get someone to come and make a key for the car. The poor girl, and awesomely amazing friend, spent her entire night on me. We drank wine together over the phone, while she tried to smack some sense and gratitude into me. “You are not dying, you can get a new bag, although that one was really cute.”
It was really cute. Everybody in the world liked my fringe-y little black suede bag. Only $14.95, I found it a year and a half ago, when fringe was on the rise, while taking Ally shopping at Brandi Melville. A style loss, but not bad on the money front, however, my Louis Vuitton wallet at $675 and my prescription glasses for $450, and my license, credit cards, and gift cards, totalling about $350, with about $250 in cash, and three lipsticks in the area of $100, NOT TO MENTION THE CAR KEYS, will top me out at like a $1,400 loss. Not a day at the beach.
It’s not snowing.
My dog was here to hug me when I got home.
As Leah said, nobody is dead.
Everything is replaceable (except my pride)
Leah, who I have known for 27 years is a really, really great friend. OH, THERE IT IS, there is the gratitude. Friends are everything, cute bags are a dime a dozen.