I'm Tripping

My sadness begins with a happy tale of a vacation six or seven years ago. I had a college friend who came from a small town in Massachusetts, so I spent a day with her family there, a day with her friend Mike in Boston, and several days at her family's house on Cape Cod. It was wonderful. We assembled a group of our Febo friends and spent the time playing, partying, eating, and cavorting on the beach. One day at the Cape, we were out shopping and stopped in a cute little store. The owner was a trendy, if somewhat snobby, young woman who specialized in Lilly Pulitzer and the like. Since Gay Mike and I weren't in the market for female clothing, there was nothing for us to do but browse, so we were a little bored. We focused our attention on the cheaply-made yet overpriced tacky jewelry. The bracelets were all on stretchy string and would actually compliment the bright colors of the clothing in the store. One of my female friends was talking to the owner in the center register, while Gay Mike and I were fondling the bracelets. We were talking and laughing, having a good kiki, when Mike's object of disdain/affection suddenly exploded, showering the floor with dozens of beads. We immediately look at each other, mortified, and hauled ass out of the store. We laughed about it while waiting for our friends to finish up inside. We were worried there was some kind of trouble, but we agreed that he couldn't show his gay face in there again. I headed back in to see what the hold up was, and they weren't even aware what had happened. I informed them, and they appropriately guffawed. They were almost done browsing, so I went back to fondling bracelets. Wouldn't you know the same damn thing happened to me? I was truly surprised, and once again ran right out of that bitch. I made such haste that I was still clutching some of the chunky beads in my hands. I met Gay Mike outside and showed him my shame, causing us to practically pee our pants.

I kept those three beads as souvenirs of my trip, and they eventually found their way into the bag I take to work every day. I keep them in a little pocket with my keys, backup chapstick, and several dollars in quarters that I for some reason insist on always having. At the beginning and end of the workday, I swap out my personal keys for my office key. This has been fine for almost two years now. While switching keys this morning, I noticed that I only have two beads. My heart sank. After all this time, I've lost track of one. I don't know when it could have been lost. I've been out of town a few times with my bag recently, so my special little nugget might be bringing someone else luck in San Francisco, Chicago, Las Vegas, or Dallas. I guess I should be grateful I still have two, but I feel a little empty today. The frustration of helplessness is the worst feeling in the world. Even when it's over something as little as a missing bead. I knew I should have strung them together as anal beads.