An incident happened this past week in which I am still scratching my head. Have you ever known you had something, but for the life of you could not find it? I will accede to the fact that occasionally, I do have a streak of absent-mindedness running through me. At times, I wish it would just walk.
I was fairly certain I had an extra $20 in one of my pant’s pockets. It was what I affectionately refer to as my “mad Money.” My wife would be mad if she knew I had it. I do not remember where it came from but my real problem was, I could not find those pants.
Usually, if I find money in my pants pocket there is only one explanation. I’m wearing somebody’s pants, but not mine. The truth is, my pants rarely see any extra money. If there is an occasion when I do have money in my pocket, my pants get all excited and wrinkly.
Only this was different. I distinctly remember putting a $20 bill in one of my pants pockets and thinking what I could do with it. But now, I cannot find it. I knew I had an extra $20. I distinctly remember putting it somewhere. I’ve looked everywhere… maybe I should have looked somewhere.
With the aimless look on my face, more aimless than normal, I wandered the house in search of the missing $20. I tried to act inconspicuous so the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage would not discover what I was doing.
Obviously, no Emmy award will come my way because my acting inconspicuous was a complete failure.
“What are you looking for?” My wife queried.
“Nothing,” I stammered.
“When you find it, let me know. I really don’t know what nothing looks like.”
Ha. Ha. Ha. Sometimes she thinks she is a comedian. However, I was not laughing. If I find that money, the joke will be on her. Then we will see who is laughing.
I had two fears facing me at this point. First, she could have found the money and was waiting for me to admit that I actually had some extra money. This would invite a great deal of grief on top of my balding head.
Second, if I told her I was looking for money she would want to know where I got extra money. If I cannot remember where the money is, how in the world am I going to remember where it came from?
Then, she would want to know how much more money I had misplaced somewhere in the house. Actually, I want to know that myself.
Such interrogation from her borders on waterboarding. If the FBI wants to learn a thing or two about torturing people, they could learn an awful lot from her. She can torture a person and not lay a glove on them. Of course it is not her glove I am worried about, it is her evil eye that goes through a person, me in particular, like a laser beam.
My wife always knows when I’m lying. My lips are moving.
Coming back to the missing $20. I could offer to split it with her if she would help me find it, which would leave me with $10. $10 in the hand is worth more than $20 that I do not know where it is.
Then, I would have to explain what I needed $10 for at the time. Christmas is over and her birthday and our anniversary are a long way off, so I cannot tell her I want to buy her a present.
I did have plans for that $20. Now, I cannot even remember what those plans were. Maybe, if I knew what I planned to do with the $20 I might remember what I did with the $20.
While I was musing on this situation, I discovered a correlation between money and love. Without love, you end up with a broken heart. Without money, you just end up broke.
Then out of nowhere, and I mean nowhere, an idea entered my head. I remembered wearing my brown suit when I got $20. I went to my closet, but the suit was not there.
“Have you seen my brown suit?” I asked my wife.
“Yes,” she said rather absent-mindedly, “I sent it to the dry cleaner. Why do you ask?”
Then, with a little smirk dancing on her face, she asked, “You weren’t looking for $20, were you?”
The only thing I hope is that I do not remember where the $20 came from or what I planned to do with it. I guess a freshly dry cleaned suit is worth $20.