Butch Catastrophe II

The Boy often says that I should put on my helmet before I leave the house, because according to him, I am "the most klutzy person [he knows]." He was also the one that helped me title "Butch Catastrophe and the Conjunctivitis Kid".

And really, it's true. I can wear a pair of pants to work every day cooking greasy meat without getting anything on them; I wear them for two hours and have Chinese food for lunch and it looks like I love to pour soy sauce in my lap. I can bang my head in the same spot really fucking hard on two different surfaces on the same day. I even knocked myself out the first time I did it, too....

And so, there comes a day in every woman's life when she must evaluate her choice in storage. I mean, specifically, when I need to figure out what I’m going to do about having two wallets.

I have a college billfold that I used to keep my cards in, but got so bulky with all the crap I would load it with that I couldn’t find the cards for the receipts. I have another checkbook wallet with card slits in it that I keep in my purse for when I’m off-campus or at home.

This wallet, despite being good for showing my “school spirit,” doesn’t lend itself to being very convenient to take around campus. With as much as I use my credit card, debit card, university ID and driver’s license, it’s just not feasible to slip it into my wallet and then into my pocket. Most of the time, I just prefer to slide the naked cards lustily into my back pocket and trudge about town.

Of course, you never realize the true weight of an appendage until it’s gone. It’s great to have your driver’s license and debit card when you’re doing shots of Apple Pucker and at the bar…or for buying cigarettes after you find out that yes, indeed, you have lost both your debit card and driver’s license in one fell swoop.

I remained calm. Losing my identity and my means in this world is not something to get completely hysterical over. I, of course, did the “oh fuck” dance, which all of us have done at one point or another in our lives. Like when you jammed your finger in the car door, or that time when you forgot to send your credit card payment on time, or when your girlfriend found out you were cheating on her… That “oh fuck” dance. I checked all of the pertinent places that I would have lost it: on the floor of both my dorm room and The Boy’s apartment, sofa cushions, my coat pockets (which most of the time are just garbage cans attacked to my clothes), I checked inside my purse, my car, everywhere I could think of. I even knocked on the door of our Family Friends II, whose house we were all lolling in libations Saturday night.

I admitted defeat. If they were anywhere, they were going to be at the bowling alley, and, had they even found the cards at all, who am I to say they didn’t already buy that new leather bustier that lifts and separates?

I went to my bank and dealt with a woman who had as much personality as a bladder infection. We put a hold on the card, and I would be mailed a new one in 7-10 days. I wrote a check to myself for $50…

In Ohio, it was going to take $27 and two forms of ID, and my firstborn to get a new driver’s license. With jazz hands a’sparklin’…I did the “oh fuck” dance again.

I came back to my dorm room and checked the messages on my cell phone, which I had left charging my room as I went to the bank. The Boy, who knew of the situation about my cards, left me a message on the phone.

“I don’t know if you figured it out yet, but you left your driver’s license and debit card in the CD console of the truck.”

I think with the $50 I got out of the bank, I’m going to buy myself a nice neon yellow helmet from Wal-Mart.