Ooohhhhh my goodness. I feel like shaking someone till their teeth rattle, but I know I’m the only one at fault. Anybody feel like smacking me upside the head for being such a dummy? It might help me feel a bit better.

On Sunday, we were out running some errands. Our last one was a traditional pre-Christmas stop: Pier One, for our yearly ornament purchase. We found two lovely ones and headed home.

This year’s newest addition.

This year’s newest addition.

It wasn’t until Monday morning, when I sat down to pay a bill and then, I hoped, take advantage of some Cyber Monday sales, that I realized my wallet was gone.

I searched. Oh, how I searched. I looked inside my boots. I checked the freezer and refrigerator — those of my readers who know me know those were totally reasonable places to look. I dumped everything out of Niko’s toy box, just in case a wandering small person had dropped it in — but nothing. (And made HIM clean it up, because that was one messy toy box.) Under the beds, behind the shoe rack, inside the couch, behind the changing table, inside the bathtubs — I looked everywhere.

Of course I called everywhere I’d been, between my frantic searches. Everyone was politely sympathetic but assured me that my wallet wasn’t there. I checked account activity online. All quiet. No illicit purchases. The wallet was safe — but where?

On Tuesday, I finally caved. I called our bank and the credit card company and cancelled the cards. But I knew, still, that the wallet was safe. I was absolutely positive that it was going to turn up any minute. Still, having our bank account and credit card in the wrong hands is not a chance I was willing to take. So, despite my reluctance, I called.

That’s why I wasn’t really surprised when, two hours after I’d finished the last cancellation, Aaron texted. Pier One had found the wallet. Though they had my name and number, they followed what was no doubt a perfectly reasonable protocol but had the end result of being vastly inconvenient for me: they called the 800 number on the back of the credit card. The credit card company called the number they had on file, which was Aaron’s. Aaron, of course, was in a meeting, so didn’t get the voice mail until two hours later. Yes, that’s right. At exactly the same time as I was canceling my cards, the wallet was being found and safely stored.

On my to-do list: Add my number to the credit card company’s contact information. Oh, and stop abandoning my wallet.