Like the best of us, I lose things from time to time, and forget things, and worst of all, I am late, for most things. Deadlines, meetings, school drop offs, school pickups. Ironically I was taken to my wedding by a very enthusiastic carriage driver who delivered me to the door an embarrassing twenty five minutes early. That was almost worse than being late, but that’s another story.
Last weekend I went out: that’s a rarity, I went out for no other reason than to have fun with my friends. We went for dinner (I was late) and then out out. Out as in, Magalluf out, also very rare. Drink was taken, dancing happened, and then when the time was right a cab was found and I shared a ride home with my friend Jonny. Sunday passed in a fog of what we like to call “wine flu”. My husband, who has been working extraordinarily hard recently, was very patient and didn’t complain about my temporary self-induced disability, and by Monday morning everything was back to normal. Everything except the slow realisation when I was out working that I had lost my wallet. I couldn’t find it anywhere, and I also could not remember where I had last seen it. Surely it was at home, so when I arrived back in the afternoon I searched the place from top to bottom. Nothing. I turned the office over, the lounge, the bedroom, the kitchen, the car. Nowhere. It’s then that I started to think about all the things in my wallet which I wouldn’t know how to replace, or if I could be bothered. That very old residency card which has my photo on it which is now illegal but everyone still accepts, that UK driving licence card which I shouldn’t have any longer because I should probably have got a Spanish one by now, those health cards which took four trips to the health centre to get, the hand written reminders of CIF numbers for official receipts, the pointless loyalty cards which I still hopefully proffer to a variety of supermarket workers, wondering every single time what I actually get out of them, and last but not least, actual bank cards and money.
Then the process of coming to terms with the loss, whilst secretly hoping perhaps that it will show up. The long, yearning, hopeful glances around the room, looking again and again in the same place thinking “maybe it will show up here after all”. At midnight the thought struck me, of course, why hadn’t I thought of it before, the CAB! But that was two days previously, and the middle of the night. I had to admit that it was a very unlikely that my wallet was going to show up after this long, but Tuesday morning I rang the Calvia taxis office and asked. Incredibly, my wallet had been found in the back of the cab, and driver number 134 safely delivered my wallet back to me, completely intact with all of its pointless pieces of plastic which would have been so tiresome to replace. So, there you are: miracles do happen, thank you driver 134! www.familymattersmallorca.com