A Tale of D’oh

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Sod pride coming before a fall (although sometimes that’s true also). Sometimes, more accurately, eagerness comes before massive, sweat-inducing panic.

I had thought my luck had come in today. I’d sorted the works email nightmare. I’d remembered to buy nappies for Noodles on my way back from a viewing, thus saving me a drive out of town. (Get me, managing the multi-tasking mum thing!) I’d been offered full-time hours at work…and turned them down (because I’m not that good at multi-tasking to be able to do it all day every day, but I must be fooling someone somewhere well enough into thinking I’m vaguely competent at my job, as opposed to just vague and incompetent). And – and this had really got me excited! – I’d got a pair of salad servers for JUST £3.00 instead of £7, because they didn’t have a barcode, were the last on the display and I happened to ask for help from a pair of clueless teenage boys who didn’t know how to cope so just grabbed the cheapest similar item to hand and ran that through the till instead. Result!

I literally skipped out of the store, I can tell you.

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Except…

When I got home I straight away had to go out with Noodles on a chocolate button run (which turned into a chocolate, Disney Princess trading cards, Frozen stickers and Rio 2 DVD run after asking Boo if she wanted anything – never ask a 7-year-old if she wants anything! I’m surprised she didn’t add a trampoline and a pony to the list!). At the till, DISASTER! My card was MISSING!!!

Oh, *!?@#!!!

I tried to stay calm. I paid with a different card, went home and tipped my handbag out. Nope. I checked through the collection of receipts and loyalty cards that replace actual real money in my purse. Nu-uh. I emptied out the carrier bag containing my now-possibly-not-such-a-bargain-if-my-card-has-been-pinched-and-my-bank-account-ransacked salad servers. Obviously, nada. Niente. Diddly squat. My card had vanished.

I bet myself that in my bargain-elation is left it in the card reader at the store. I decided it would be wise to call the store – thank heavens for 24-hour opening! – and check before cancelling my card. It may be 24-hour opening, but that doesn’t mean 24-hour phone answering on customer service.

?#@*&%!!!

This meant I would have to confess to Husband. Not good. (Although it could have been worse; at least it wasn’t the card for our joint account. There wouldn’t be words if I ever lost that!) his reaction, lets say, wasn’t especially positive.

I decided with one last hope to drive back to the store – so much for being organised and saving time. Not so epic now, GSM. But if I could save myself from having to order a new card, that’d be good.

I found Clueless Boy #1 still on the checkout. He hadn’t seen my card. Great. I’d obviously been stalked by an opportunistic identity thief who at that very moment was surely wringing every last drop from my bank account. (Although I would thwart him with my limited spending potential. Ha! Being broke has never seemed so positive!)

Nevertheless, I tried customer services too. A cursory glance in the cupboard yielded no sign.

“Oh, ok. I’ll just have to order a new card. Thank you,” I said out loud.

“*!?@#!!!?#@*&%!!!” I thought to myself.

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I wandered out to the car park and glanced into my purse…

…and there it was, MY SODDING BANK CARD, sat in a slot in my PURSE, albeit on the opposite side to where I’d normally put it!!!

My first reaction: PHEW! Yet, WTF?!?! How had I NOT seen it?!?!

Needless to say, when I got home I had nothing but praise for the staff of Sainsbury’s for spotting my card so promptly and keeping it safe for me. 😉 Only you and I know the magnitude of my muppetry.

Just don’t tell Husband, hey?

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20 thoughts on “A Tale of D’oh”

      1. 😦 Is there no one you can count on anymore? OMG. Well, GM, I am here for you along with the rest of your fellow bloggers! We love you and do solemnly promise not to spew on you! 🙂

  1. A brilliant and very wise ending to a story of tragedy. But hey, give yourself points for at least getting your purse home. I’ve left mine in a cart in the parking lot on more than one occasion. I think there must be some special saint who keeps an eye on us poor, harassed mothers.

    1. Better to leave the purse in the cart than the child (I know someone whose done THAT!). Mind you, by and large, opportunistic identity thieves are less willing to take the child.

  2. Honestly you make it hard to be empathetic and feel sorry for anything you’ve gone thru when you tell about it so darn humorously. Have I lived this scene? You betcha! Has it ever seemed even mildly funny or had any blogging potential? Nope. You’re amazing!

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