Mea Culpa

           Nothing panics a woman like a lost purse. 

The other day I was at church, wandering about before the meeting began, chatting with friends. One of them wanted to set a date for a comical women’s night starring guess who. 

“Oh, let me grab my calendar,” I said. I use an old-school pocket daytimer, so I headed back to my pew to get it.  There it was, my black handbag. I sat down and opened it up.

But what was this—my wallet was missing? Oh, no—it probably fell out in the parking lot!  No calendar, either.  And a totally different lip balm—wait a second. 

 This wasn’t even my purse! Aghast, I hurriedly closed it up and put it back on the bench, then scurried two rows up to my real purse.  Meanwhile, my eyes were darting about to see who might own the decoy handbag. But nobody stepped up.

And I just want to apologize to whomever it is that owns Evidence Bag #1—I truly am sorry I went pawing through your purse. I just hope you don’t own a car that looks like mine and that I haven’t accidentally gotten inside that one as well.

With any luck, she was busy watching one of my Youtube Mom videos. I can only hope.