And so today, I went to Target to buy a couple “last minute” items for Father’s Day. Like, cards and something that my father can put on a shelf and ignore for another year. Aside from Mother of the Year, I am also in the running for Wife and Daughter of the Year. All is right in the world. Mediocrity at its best.
Anyhow, I get there, catch my reflection in the mirror and decide that I would look less fat and awful, if I took the keys and cell phone out of my sweats and shoved them into my purse. The improvement was nothing to write home about. I put my purse in the cart and started my normal route around Target. I will always walk by the $8 t-shirts and tanks of which I have so many in so many different colors, it is disturbing. I then go by the workout stuff and the pajamas. Anyhow, I did not buy any crap today that I did not need, at least not really. I went by the toys and found some “make believe doctor” type toys that I knew J and J would love so I picked that up and then I grabbed the cart and went on my way.
I headed straight for the DVD section where I was certain I would find something suitable for my father. I did. Threw said Clint Eastwood Western compilation into cart with fake medical kit. I then walked over to the electronics section thinking that maybe I would find him some kind of handheld game that he could play without moving from the couch. And then, I realized I had not checked my phone for the last several minutes. And THEN, I noticed that my cart had no purse in it. My purse was gone. The little area where a purse should be wholly lacked a purse. And honestly, I had NO IDEA how that happened. And then, a red polo shirt saleswoman walked by and I must have looked pale and nauseated and frantic but she said nothing and walked by. And I decided to retrace my steps.
I would not have held my heavy ass purse because there was perfectly good compartment to hold my purse. So, I figured I would go to where I was and see if someone there saw the bastard Pomona shit steal my purse so I could make a report to the police. Then I figured that all Pomona hooligans stick together and so why would anyone help. I then cursed Pomona, sweat pooling in my still too tight underwire. Not by the DVDs. Go to the toy section. Father-daughter still negotiating about a Barbie. Pleased at this point that although I do not have a purse, I also do not have any Barbie heads in my house. I glare at the father because he must be in on the delinquency whereby my purse is now with some gang member in Pomona.
I am seething and fuming and upset that I have lost all my contacts and a few hundred bucks, all my credit cards. My new giraffe wallet. Totally irritated that I have to go to the POMONA DMV. There is nothing worse than Pomona DMV, you go there to risk your life. My newly opened Carmex. My CAR KEYS. I couldn’t even call Julio to ask him to pick me up because I HAD NO PHONE. DAMN POMONA!
And I go up and down the aisles. Aisles I did not even go in. And there is an empty cart with just my purse in it. My untouched purse, an empty cart.