Stories for telling


We had such a great time on Monday evening and got in so late, there was no chance of recounting every last detail of the day.  Well, really, I’m not sure you’d want to read all of that anyway…believe me, some aspects have already been told at least once too many!


For me, the day started in a less than optimal way.  On Sunday afternoon, we’d found ourselves in Michaels and even though I had nothing on my list, I managed to find one or two small things as usual.  The place was frustratingly full of people, mooching around and generally getting in our way, so by the time we reached the cash registers, Jordi and I had had quite enough.  (Meanwhile, my our hero was sitting at the store Managers desk, chatting and making himself quite at home)




We were chatting too – to each other about the MaryJane sweets we found by the registers and just had to buy for the wrappers alone, to the sales clerk about the things we’d bought and about the tiresome number of customers who were in the store on a sunny Sunday afternoon.  Hadn’t they got anything better to do?!  We picked up our bag of shopping and off we went.

Except, on Monday morning, when I opened the Michaels bag to examine my purchases, the two main things I’d bought weren’t there!  Oh no!

Perhaps they’d been put in Jordi’s bag by mistake?

Sadly not.  Jordi had already texted to say she’d eaten all her MaryJanes and would surely have said that she’d found unexpected items in her bag, in any case.  No, she hadn’t got anything extra in her bag.

I blamed myself.  After all, I ought to have been paying attention when I was paying for the things.  I should have carried my own bag and not left my hero to schlep my shopping around for me – because then, I might have spotted that the two main things weren’t there. Above all, I should stop talking and concentrate on what I am doing.

There.  Having given myself a good talking to, I decided to move on and forget about it.  No good crying over spilt milk.




But, I can’t let things go quite that easily and spotting the phone number on the receipt along with the two items I was missing as well (proving that yes, I’d paid for them) I decided to telephone the store.  I described what was not in my bag of shopping when I returned home and before I had finished, the person on the other end of the line said “They are in our lost property, here”.

We went straight out again and caught the bus up to the store on the Upper West Side to collect them.




This note was stapled to the bag.  I interpreted it as “not your fault, Gill”.






Now, I must do something with them!

The Divers

to be continued