It is my sincere hope/prayer/desire to never write a heroine who is TSTL (too stupid to live). However, sometimes my heroines certainly manage to do some off-the-wall stuff. Unfortunatley, they come by it naturally because off-the-wall, dingy moves seem to be my norm.

Let’s go back to Saturday afternoon. I need a pair of jeans. I wore shorts and skirts and capris all summer but summer has come and gone and we’re back into blue jean season which is cool but I only have two pair of jeans — one to wear with flats and one to wear with heels. Sorry, but you simply can’t wear two pair of jeans seven days a week which necessitated in a shopping trip for Yours Truly.

So, I’m walking along the sidewalk when my friend calls just as I’m entering The Gap. We talk as I’m pulling blue jeans to try on. I head to the fitting room, still on the cell phone. We’re talking and I’m trying on. First, let it be known that Gap (and I’m not picking on them) sizing is traumatizing in that it’s all over the friggin’ board depending on the cut. I don’t need any additional stinking trauma. I’ve gained ten pounds. Two went to my boobs, the other eight is parked on what used to be my waist. About the time that I try on a pair of jeans which fit through the derriere but which prominently showcases my muffin-top from HELL, my friend has her own mini-crisis and has to go. No problem. I put my phone away and continue shopping. At one point someone else actually takes over my original dressing room. Fine. I take the one two doors down.

I finally find a pair of jeans that kind of, sort of fit and haul them and myself up to the register. That’s when I ask the only person in the store (they were short-handed) if these jeans are going to stretch out. She assures me they will. Wrong answer. If they stretch out, it’s going to look like a family of gypsies moved out of my pants. Great. I try on the size smaller and once again I’m plagued by the MTFH (muffin top from hell). Only this time it’s a gazillion times worse because this is the smallest size that’s ever been on my body and the insult to injury is that part of it actually fits. Well, it all fits, but it just looks disgusting with that mid-section spillover.

Nope. I’ll make do with two pair of jeans for now. I head out of the store, looking on my way out for my cell phone. It should be right in the front pocket on my purse. Nope. Must’ve tucked it in the inside purse pocket then. Nuh-uh. I rifle through my purse. Nada.

Now I’m starting to panic. I retrace my steps. No phone. I have the lady behind the counter ring my phone while I listen intently. Nothing. I call and leave a message so the message alert will go off. Once again, nothing — no sound. I’m not proud of it, but right there, in the middle of Gap, I started crying. That phone contains at least four years of contact information. All I could think was that the person who went into the dressing room after me found and absconded with my phone. At this point, I promptly burst into tears. The phone is mega-cheap and I pay by the month, but it has ALL of my contact numbers on it. I no longer have a home phone. My lost cell phone is my only link to friends and family and I was careless and put it somewhere stupid where it was promptly stolen.

I went home, communicationless, and decided on Sunday I couldn’t stand it and would have to replace it. However, on the way to the phone store I ran by The Gap. They had my phone. Apparently, I’d stuck my phone in the pocket of a pair of try-on jeans. I was SO relieved to have my phone back but I’ve got to tell ya, I felt like a major nimrod.

So…make me feel better. Share something equally stupid you’ve done lately, because at this stage of the game, quite frankly, I scare myself.

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