A Cautionary Tale

Messiness and laziness are a destructive combination, but also make perfect sense as a couple. They also make for one f*ck-up of a morning.

For some reason, an invisible force kept me in my bed a good 35 minutes past the point I should have got up to get ready for work in time. I didn’t sleep through my alarm, in fact I was at least 70% awake at my previously decided ‘getting up time’ and yet in bed I stayed. I guess it was just too comfortable – not that my bed is particularly comfortable, as beds go, its springs have a tendency to prod you in the back, much like something else I’ve grown accustomed to – but compared to the cold air of the outside-the-bed world, it was. I guess that force was laziness – the bastard. Anyway, my point is I got up late and only had 30 minutes to get ready. Normally I give myself over an hour (I’m slow in the mornings, OK? and I can’t do anything without tea and food). However, I was doing pretty well – showered first for a change and still had 15 minutes left for breakfast but decided it wise to pack my bag beforehand.

This is when disaster struck. My purse, which is usually in a certain pocket of my bag was not in that pocket. Nor was it in the main section. Nor was it in any other pocket. It then occurred to me that I had gone out without a bag and put my purse in my coat pocket a couple of nights ago. It was probably still there. It wasn’t. Where the f*ck could it be then? This is when the panic settled in my stomach. I had to leave soon and I hadn’t eaten anything. I had stewing tea that needed drinking. I started looking everywhere: the sofa; under the sofa; the floor around the sofa; the floor all over the lounge; every surface in the lounge; the sofa in the dining room; the bed; the floor around the bed; the floor all over the bedroom; every surface in the bedroom; my desk; under my desk; around my desk; the kitchen surfaces; the bathroom cabinet; even the fridge. The house was a chaos of flying not-my-purses. If it was messy before, it was nothing to what it was now. It would have looked like we’d been burgled to anyone else. I texted my boyfriend, clinging to the stupid hope that he might have some kind of psychic link to my purse and therefore know its location. His reply? ‘Try the pile of clothes I moved from the bed.’ The suspicion that he knew something I didn’t began to creep inside me but I pushed it back and started flinging the clothes from the pile, which happened to be on top of a chest of drawers, into the air. Thud. What was that? I searched the rest of the pile, then I searched the strewn pile I’d just searched. I’d definitely heard something fall. I’d definitely heard something fall. The words chanted around my head, only in present tense, until I grasped the presence of mind to look at the gap between the drawers and the wardrobe. There it was. My purse. Sat looking at me on the floor at the very back of that gap, all innocent and judgemental. I didn’t care. I scrabbled at the gap. Couldn’t reach. So I gripped the drawers and, in some kind of hulk-out moment, heaved them forwards, right up to the bed, so I could wriggle around them and retrieve my purse.

I now had 10 minutes to get to work. I hadn’t brushed my teeth or combed my hair and it took me 25 minutes to walk. Well, I almost laughed to myself, I can call a taxi now because now I had my purse I could pay for one. Simple right? I might be a tad late but at least that would be the end of my troubles.


The taxi took its sweet time, but that was OK, what wasn’t OK was what happened at the cash point.

Stood in the two-person-queue a horrible thought jumped my brain: I don’t know my pin.

Of course I know my pin, I thought back, how could I not.

What is it then?

Well it’s…oh.


It might be xyzc

Or… ywzx

Turns out it was neither. Nor was it the other however many tries you get before they lock your pin.

There was nothing else to do – I had to confess to the taxi driver.

He was really nice about it. Said he’d take me to work anyway (maybe he thought I might cry – I was rather flustered at this point) and I could go in and pay when I did have money.

I was still 10 minutes late for work but who cares? Well, my boss would, but he was off that day.

So, the moral of this story? Don’t put your purse somewhere stupid; don’t allow so much mess for sought-for things to, potentially, hide in; and don’t stay in bed beyond the ‘getting up time’. Oh and don’t think about your pin while queueing for a cash point – it will desert you in your minutes of need.


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