Hide and Seek

Right before going out for New Year's Eve, I decided to hide the $150 I had in my pocket. I figured if I left it in my pocket, I'd lose it. I don't like to leave money or my one Terra-byte external hard drive behind--weird, but without therapy, I'll probably always have this weird way of being. In case you are wondering, I don't usually have $150 in my pocket--this was Christmas money, of which the wife had handed me. I decided to hide the money for safe keeping. I hid the money and we went on our way to enjoy a most delicious New Year's Eve feast created by our chef-like friends.

Fast forward seven days. I am considering a trip to the tattoo parlor to get one of my tattoos "fixed," which leads me to think about the cost, which leads me to think about my $150 in cash.....

....oh, the cash. Where did I put the cash? I stood at the kitchen counter and pondered this. Despite valiant efforts at pondering, I drew a blank.

For the record, the wife thinks it is VERY strange that I hide things, especially money--she says "there's this thing called a BANK...that's where your money should be--in the bank." What a killjoy.

Now, usually I hide things in places of which are consistent. In this case, I remember taking the money out of my pocket and deciding the freezer wasn't of interest this time. (Heck, if your house burns down, your money has a chance of surviving in there.) I opened my "kitchen table folder" (the one with my passport, marriage license and tax information in it) but decided that putting money in there would indeed be putting all my eggs in one basket. (What? You don't keep your marriage license on the kitchen table?) I thought about putting the money in a canister, a mug, a drawer, the dog treat jar--all of which don't qualify as "places of which are consistent." I remember having a brainstorm and then going to hide the money.

The problem? Seven days later....I have NO idea where I hid the money. THIS is why perimenopausal women should NOT hide anything.

Talk about a blank slate. NOTHING was firing in the brain of mine. Not one shred of a memory. Things were so blank that I started to wonder if I had indeed deposited the money in the bank on January 2nd......but, no--I had no recollection of going to the bank....Did I spend the money? No, I haven't purchased anything except a turntable and that was on line, using PayPal. (A turntable. I know. Weird. Old School.)

I thought about asking the wife if she had seen my money, but thought better of this, realizing it would be MUCH better to look for the money before asking such a dumb question. So, I looked in the folder, the freezer, drawers, medicine, dog stuff, pockets, wallet, checkbook, computer bag, work piles, church piles, Christmas Cards, books in the bedroom, pants pockets, coat pockets and even via on line banking. I looked in the car--the glove compartment, the console storage thing, the back seat, even in all the CDs....and, of course, in my "apocalypse trunk" (in case of world disaster, hang out with me--the contents in my trunk will keep us alive for at least a week). I knew it was not at work because I hid it when not at work.

On the eighth day, I had to ask the wife. You can imagine how pleased she was by this question. After all these years, she should not be surprised by this kind of question. No, she had not seen my money. No, I shouldn't hide money. Boy, I'd best find that money. I promised I'd tell her when I found the money. I felt quite confident I'd find the money...I just wasn't sure where or when that might be.

It was at this point I knew I had to pull out the big guns. If there is one thing I can count on, it's St. Anthony.

Now, you can't abuse the ol' Catholic Saint--you have to wait until you've really tried to find something and you are sincere in your need for help. You don't call on St. Tony to find the small stuff. Save him for the big stuff. In my book, $150 in cash is the big stuff.

I gave the prayer aloud: "St. Anthony, St. Anthony, Please come around--something's lost and must be found."

I probably should have said, "I'm a moron who's hid money and it must be found." I put my coat on and headed out the door to go to work.

As soon as I sat in my car, I exclaimed..."I REMEMBER WHERE THE MONEY IS!!!!" 

I opened the car console storage thingy and pulled out the name bag of which I had--as a joke--put my Madonna Fan Club card. (Don't ask.) The name bag is--aka the Madonna fan club card holder--a sealed plastic thing. I opened the badge and WA-LA! Thank you, St. Anthony! The cash was safely in hand. It then came flooding back to me. I recalled the "hiding of the cash" event and even my thinking of why putting my money in this place made sense--after all, Madonna is all about money. She has money. So, she had MY money for safe keeping.

Duh! Makes TOTAL sense to me.

Once at work, I sent a text to the wife, assuring her that the money was now secure. She sent a text back inquiring where it had been. My answer, of course was....

"...where I hid it."

I daresay she wasn't entertained.

Suffice it to say, I eventually told her where the money was found and explained my train of thought, which--of course--made no sense to her. I took the money and I put it somewhere safe....

....um.....well.....

....I think I put it somewhere safe. Damn. I know the $50 bill is in my checkbook....but, that $100 bill.....

Shit, I'll get back to you.
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