The amazing thing to me is that I got gas using my debit card, and when I reached my destination 15 minutes later, the card was gone. Vanished into thin air. Poof!
I was en route to the mall do some bathing suit shopping for our impending February vacation trip. Now that in and of itself is a traumatizing event, so I don't need to tell you that my levels of despair and anxiety were already running quite high by the time I pulled into the Hess gas station on fumes. I was not looking forward to this expedition for reasons mentioned in previous posts. But I was determined, cellulite or no, to find something that worked.
I pulled into a spot at the mall and started to get my stuff together when I realized the card was not in my pocket where I thought I had put it, nor was it on the center console of my car. &^%$#. I spent the next hour or so tearing my car apart. In that process I banged my head on the door frame twice, jammed my finger in the sliding thingy on the center console and pinched the palm of my hand with my tiny little Swiss army knife, causing a small cut that hurt like hell. And I still didn't find the card. *&^%$. I have had a debit card of some sort since I went to college. I have never, ever lost my debit card. Ever. In 20 years of debit card ownership, I have always know where that little sucker was at all times.
I had to call and cancel it. Problem is we are leaving tonight for a lovely, much needed vacation to warmer climes, and my new bank card will arrive while we are away. I will have to rely on Mr. Wonderful's debit card to get me through the week. I don't like not being independent.
So apparently my brain cells are a little miswired, and I'm more confused than I thought. To lose my bank card? Ugh.
I plan on vegetating, seriously vegetating for the next 10 days. In my new bathing suit with limited cash.
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