Where’s the phone already??

I was standing in line today at the Geek Squad counter in Best Buy. Standing for an exorbitant amount of time. Thirty minutes passed, literally. I mentioned to someone that I was at the point of asking my angels to help me keep a check on my impatience. I have very little patience. Especially when it comes to minor stuff, minor as in “in the scheme of life, does it matter” kind of stuff. It’s been a life-long bad habit. And it rears its head over stupid  little things, like when I can’t get my necklace fastened or I can’t find my keys or that piece of paper I know I just had in my hand. It reminded me of the day my impatience erupted while looking for my cell phone.

Very much like my mom who is as impatient as I am – Trust me, this apple definitely did not fall far from THAT tree! – I start the rant about not being able to locate my phone. I’m swearing, because I’m often not able to find things. Sometimes I think I spend half my time running around looking for things in my house! And of course I’m in a hurry. I always am. Always running out the door in a flurry. Minutes tick by as I run from room to room, looking for that stupid phone. Oh, bright idea, Michele: Call your cell phone! Duh. Like, Really? I didn’t think about this in the first place??…

Ay-yi-yi

So I grab the house phone and dial my cell number, listening intently for that familiar Old Phone ringtone. A few seconds pass and I hear it. It’s close by. I was standing over my purse at the time. I start rifling through it. No phone. I called my number again… get a better handle on exactly where this phone might be.  And again I hear it. In my purse. By this time I’m starting to remove some of the larger items from my purse. We women who carry big purses know the drill. First, out comes the wallet, then the checkbook, then the overstuffed makeup case –stuffed with way more than just makeup, naturally.

The ringing stops. And I still don’t have my hands on this phone. Dial one more time. It’s ringing but I just can’t get to it. The screaming starts.

“AARRRRRGGGHHH!  WHERE. IS. THIS. GODDAMN PHONE ALREADY???”

WTF?!

By now I’m beyond the point of no return. I’m a lunatic. I grab my purse and in one frenzied move turn it upside down and shake the crap out of it. “Piece of trash! What the shit, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? WHERE’S THIS FUCKING PHONE???!!”

I look at the contents of my purse strewn all over the floor. Tubes of lipsticks rolling under the furniture, crumpled up old receipts from God knows when and God knows where, a plethora of used Kleenex in a sea of ink pens.

Jesus. No wonder I can never find a pen in this house: they’re all at the bottom of my fucking purse!

I dial again – is this the 3rd or 4th time? -The ringing. It’s so close…

I’m shaking the now empty purse next to my ear, running my hand over the lining. Could there possibly be a tear in the lining and could the phone be lodged in the bowels of this taupe pain in the ass leather bag?

Nothing. I’m now standing in the middle of my foyer, stunned, in an absolute state of flabbergast.

Am I going crazy? Jesus God, help me. I can feel my face flush. And I know my forehead has to be a little red, warm cherry cheeks, my neck flush, eyes and mouth wide open in disbelief…and, truth be told, a little fear. Could I finally be losing it??

I look into the kitchen, scanning the chaotic table, piles of mail and magazines and catalogs staring back at me, and a tiny surface of the table peeking out, barely visible amongst all the senseless mail and dust covering its beautiful walnut wood grain. Where to look now?

I pick up my house phone and dial again. I hear that bastard so close! Where the fuck is it already??!

Thankfully, I think my angels must have had, for now, enough giggles at my expense and I suppose one of them must have whispered into my ear where to look, because for some reason just then I stretched out the front of my shirt and peered down. Yep, there was my phone, tucked neatly in my bra…deep in the cleavage of my bosom.

Sigh.

(Oh, by the way, did I mention? I’m going to see if my pain management doctor will agree that it’s medically necessary for me to get a breast reduction…)