Well, at least the gray blends with the blonde...

There are few things more terrifying, more sickening, more gut-wrenching and nerve-wracking, than losing your wallet. You literally want to puke. Your mind obsesses over all the possible places it could be, you retrace your steps over and over, you second-guess yourself, What if I DIDN'T put it on the console, what if I left it on top of the vehicle?, even though you KNOW you really did put it on the console.

You cannot help but catalog and itemize every little thing in there: the bank card, credit cards, drivers license, money (maybe), cheques, stamps, receipts, gift cards, membership cards, pictures of family. And then you prioritize what needs to be done first: cancel credit cards, tell bank about missing debit card, re-order drivers license, cancel cheques, re-order membership cards. But you want to know for sure if finding the wallet is a lost cause before you do all that, because wouldn't it be just your luck to go through that huge ordeal, making all those phone calls, cancelling everything, and then finding the damn thing in your other purse because, oh yeah, you forgot that you used that purse that day.

And if you are lucky enough to find the wallet before going through all that hassle, just the mental anguish and torment of all those hours of worry, wondering if some bad-guy is booking a flight to the Bahamas with your visa at that very moment, is enough to scar you for life and make it so that you never, ever do something so stupid again as to tuck your damn wallet under the carseat while getting the little one out of the vehicle and then forgetting where exactly you laid it down and maybe you left it on the floor and it fell out at the Cobbs parking lot except they said no-one turned in a wallet so maybe you brought it in the house except you've went through every single room, nook and cranny and you've scoured the vehicle five times even though it was night-time when you looked so it was really dark.

And these are all excuses you repeat to yourself so you feel less like a loser when your 11 year old son, upon hearing your end-of-the-rope-completely-frustrated-and-hopeless yell that whoever finds the wallet gets WHATEVER THEY WANT AT DQ!!, rushes out to the vehicle and returns five minutes later with said wallet and a smug smile. "I'll have an Oreo Brownie Explosion, thanks."