I am not one of life’s great losers. I might misplace things and find them again once I remember where my glasses are. Yes, I am one of those women you may peel her glasses off. Count yourself lucky. I am myopic. I’ll get your substance without the detail.
Gloves are good that way. Two decades ago my mother bought me some leather gloves. Italian. Naturally, I’d put them on my lap and on getting out of the car dropped them. Unnoticed by me. Haunts me to this day. My youngest sister knitted me some mohair gloves (grey). Divine. The winter she and I lost each other I lost the left. I was frantic. Normally I retrieve what’s lost. Not in this case. Omen est nomen. I buried the right too because I couldn’t bear seeing it all on its own.
Umbrellas I have no attachment with. They are (at least in England) one of the most useless implements ever. Considering that we are able to dispatch people to the moon it’s a miracle that there isn’t a wind and weather proof umbrella. The worse the weather the more this city resembles a graveyard of discarded umbrellas. Which makes me glad that I am not an umbrella.
Watches. I haven’t worn a watch for ages. And even when I did it was of the bangle type. Loose. Because I can’t stand being tied down. No bondage for me. So my last Gucci, lovingly dispensed by FOS (father of son), was chewed by a dog. It wasn’t the dog’s fault. All my life, no sooner do I sit down somewhere, I take my watch off. It’s amazing how many times people have run after me waving my forgotten watch. Don’t say people aren’t honest. However, that time I was sitting on grass. And the dog took what is a dog’s. Bounty. And that was that. Thank dog in heaven. Now I have got an egg timer. Same difference. Only louder.
Books. I don’t like lending books. You never get them back. I know this because I am still waiting for the return of “The Butterfly and the Diving Bell”. Ten years on. And that is one of the many secrets in life: To know when to give up. I am getting better at it. But not that good.
In fact, come to think of it, the more reluctant an obstacle is to move the more my inner Hercules jumps into action. It’s why I am so fond of Sisyphus. Roll the rock up the mountain. Trust in bad luck and gravity. Start again. Ad nauseam.