Old and Crazy - July 19, 2023

I had an appointment with my dentist at 1:00 Tuesday.  After the appointment I ran a few errands in which I paid for things with my debit card.

Yesterday, "office day," I had other errands to run before work.  On my first stop, I could not find my debit card.  I had enough cash in my wallet to do my business (which was rare), so I went on to work, where I searched the car for my card.  Not there.  Went through my wallet multiple times.  Not there.

All day long I worried about the debit card.  I did not want to call the bank, for there was a good chance that the debit card was on the kitchen table, or in the kitchen trash can, or in the pocket of the shorts I'd been wearing.  I retraced the previous day's activities in my mind:  dentist, Burger King, drug store, craft store, home.  I'd used the debit card at Burger King and had taken it out of my wallet at the drug store drive-thru, but my prescription had not been ready, so I went to the craft store, where I had enough cash for a $2 paintbrush.  

On the other hand, I remembered gathering up receipts and other bits from the passenger seat when I got home.  Maybe I'd put the card in the Burger King bag, which I'd tossed in the kitchen trash can.  

The first thing I did after work was go through the trash can.  The debit card was not there.  I began to fear that I'd laid the card in my lap while waiting at the drug store drive-thru, and that it had fallen onto the pavement when I got out of the car at the craft store.  

When The Husband came home a few minutes later, I told him about my missing card.  With his phone app, he determined that the card had not been used since I used it at Burger King (whew!), and he turned off the card until we could determine whether or not it was truly lost.  I kept searching the house but didn't find it in the likely places.  

The craft store is a locally-owned store in the small town near us.  I sent them a Facebook message, and within a few minutes, the owner replied that I'd left my card on the counter when I paid for the paintbrush.  

BIG WHEW!

Things like this make me worry that I am getting senile.  

Or senile-er.