Last night, as I was catching up on my reading and commenting, I saw that blog buddy Joe H had a minor crisis with a lost credit card.
Always the helpful blogfriend, Val was just warming up her fingers to type smugly that SHE always leaves HER credit card laying on the speaker next to her New Delly. Yes. Val IS so old that she has an ancient desktop computer, with actual speakers hooked up to it.
Anyhoo...as I was readying my words in my head, I glanced over to reaffirm my smugness by casting eyes upon my own credit card, that little blue piece of plastic for some reason labeled slate...and found NOTHING! Nothing but the dusty top of my speaker with the six flash drives lounging atop it like post-carcass-feast lions lurking without their pride-leader, my credit card!
What in the Not-Heaven? I never take it upstairs. Unless we're going on a trip. And Casinopalooza 2 is still two weeks off. Wait! That's it! Seven hours ago, I called to make reservations. That's another story entirely! It may have to wait and be pre-programmed to run while I'm away. Not sure I'm taking Shiba with me on this trip.
Anyhoo...I started to think about how that reservation transpired...and recalled how I wrote down my information on my lunch plate (all about being a friend to the environment here in the dark basement lair) and then set it aside with the pertinent details. So my credit card would probably be with that plate...
Aha! There it was. With my important papers, on top of my New Delly computer tower. The tower that Genius built. Uh huh. There was the plate. And on top of the plate, the oversize postcard thingy I need to take when I check in. And the booklet of offers that I was discussing with my sister the ex-mayor's wife over the phone.
I picked up the plate. WHAT? No credit card! I looked under the oversize postcard. Under the booklet. NO! I lifted that plate down to desk level to look again, and my sneaky credit card did a double flip and bounced off my belly and then did a full gainer off my left thigh and ended up on the floor, up against the wall under my desktop, behind my electric heater, in a nest of dust bunnies and assorted gas station chicken crumbs.
The good news is...I found my credit card.
The bad news is...I had to pick up my credit card. From way under the desk. Out of the dust bunnies and gas station chicken crumbs.
It took a red plastic ruler from the early 1980s (Missouri School Measure Up!), and a heavily-suppressed gag reflex to rescue my precious plastic from its temporary resting place.
Smugness goeth before the credit card falls, I guess.