An Open Letter To My Lost Wallet
I know you're out there. I imagine you sitting back, bloated to capacity with my important cards and dry cleaning receipts, openly mocking me. I've never lost you before, and I find it hard to believe that I have suddenly done so after so many years together. Granted, I was past a certain level of inebriation on the fateful night that I (think I) lost you, but that certainly does not excuse the fact that you've disappeared without so much as a fare-thee-well.
I've turned my entire apartment upside down looking for you because I know, deep in my heart, that I couldn't have left you anywhere out of the ordinary. Forget that my memory is foggy about whether I actually put you back in my pocket after buying those delicious pastries at the all-night bakery down the street; I cannot seem to surrender the belief that you're simply in some uncharted crevice of my room awaiting your retrieval.
But what if you aren't? What if you're currently held hostage by a thief or some overly-curious pastry aficionado practicing the age-old law of "finders keepers"?. Then I would have to commend you for your bravery in protecting the precious information you hold within your pockets. That's right, I've been checking my online credit card statements and so far you have proved yourself a worthy ally against those who would do me financial harm. If this is the case, you need only hold out another day or so before I forfeit my remaining hope of your recovery and void your precious cargo -- your own cyanide pill for use when captured by the enemy.
All the same, it's proving quite difficult to disregard my motherly intuition that you are somewhere just out of sight, chuckling to yourself every time I make a frantic attempt to locate you. I don't know whether this is just your way of enjoying an extended vacation from my pocket or whether you are truly in danger somewhere. I fear that I'll take the drastic measure noted above, only to discover you a day later in a crushing Romeo and Juliet-esque tragedy.
You have your ultimatum. Show yourself within the next 36 hours, or be made impotent by a series of phone calls to certain financial institutions. The choice is yours.
- Your agitated (former?) owner.