Arrived home from Inverurie late last night and stretched my hand out to pick up my handbag as I pulled the keys out of the ignition and prepared to open the door.
It wasn't there!
Of course it's there.
I patted the empty seat.
It wasn't on the passengers seat or on the floor in front of it.
Gulp...
Too soon to panic, I tell myself, it'll be on the back seat. . .
no.
OK, getting serious here.
Check under the front seat.
Get out and go into the back of the car.
Get down and look under the seats. . .
Do it all again.
It was now time to panic!
Frantically, I chased my memories round inside my head.
Had I lifted it off the back of the kitchen chair?
Had I left it in the bathroom when I used it just before I left? (a behaviour ingrained in me by my mother who never let her children leave the house without at least trying to empty their bladder)
Oh God, had I put it down on the drive as I was opening the car door!
I was so uptight by the time I had finished, I had to eat 150g of raspberries (three quarters of a weightwatchers point) before I could even think about going to bed.
Gary phoned this morning. He found the bag.
So I'm heading over to Inverurie to pick it up.
I've decided I'll use their garden centre to make my trip worthwhile.
What do you think of my photo? I took it on my way to the supermarket last week.
It's the path that runs out of the King George V going towards Glebe Park. Looks lovely, doesn't it?
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