So, on Friday night I had dinner with a friend and then went out for drinks with a few other friends in Brooklyn, where they live. I obviously had to be smuggled across the border after this incident but I managed to remain undetected for the rest of the evening.
We drank beer, we laughed, and we watched some bearded men build an enormous castle out of empty beer cups.
All in all, good clean fun. Until last call, when I went to buy a round. And I realized I had no wallet. And, somewhere, in the back of my mind, I had a dim vision of a terrible stereotype. But I ignored it as I searched for my wallet, to no avail. Until...suddenly, I had a sense of deja vu.
I realized that about a year ago I also lost my wallet. In the same borough. In the same bar.
With the same friend.
Why does anyone let me out of my bed let alone my house in the morning?
As it turned out that unlike last time when the wallet was merely misplaced, this time it was properly stolen, which was a surprising comfort to my ego. And my friend kindly regaled me with stories of losing her wallet in various foreign countries and gave me money to get home and I comforted myself with this idea:
I'm not just the stupid bitch that comes from Connecticut to Brooklyn and loses her wallet.
I'm the stupid bitch that does it twice.
I'm like a new, superbreed of stereotype.
So, all weekend I worked on canceling my credit cards, replacing my IDs and rebuilding my sense of pride. This ring, which is the epitome of taste and class helped some.
Then, Sunday night I decided to bring in the big guns.
That's right, bitches. 7-11. Their nachos are a culinary delight and their Slushies are engineering marvels. And, as I threw on my helmet and leather jacket and headed out to the scooter, I said, "I am just so much more awesome than anyone else."
It wasn't true, but it sure felt good to say it. To my cat.