Naked

There are few things that I cannot truly live without. Two things that are absolutes:

A) I must have clothes on in to keep my prudish and law abiding self comfortable.

B) I must have corrective lenses on to keep myself visually connected to the world.

After that, everything should be negotiable. Right? I figure I can leave the house without a wallet, keys, or anything else and still be a functioning member of society. Well, I used to think that was the case until this morning when I couldn't find my phone.

I have always considered it just a phone. I don't use it for music, photos, e-mail, or anything other than phone calls. Texts are rare. Today, I realized it's not just a phone, it's a freaking life line. I rest in the knowledge of its physical nearness to me. I take comfort in the fact that people who want or need to speak to me are just an arm's length away. But today, that electronic woobie was nowhere to be found and my morning routine was dramatically altered.

Every morning, after breakfast, I grab my silver bar phone that is nestled at the top of my open purse and call Ginny (my neighbor, friend, coworker, carpool buddy) and see if she's ready to leave for work. I head out through the garage door, grab my clicker (because it's Thursday and she usually drives), and meet her on our joint driveway. This morning, though, the phone was not in my purse: I could not locate it in the small pocket that I have set aside for the utmost important purse items - keys, phone, and headset. Nor was it hiding amongst the other non-essential purse items: checkbook, hand lotion, makeup, or drugstore items. In a panic, I rushed to the living room and (so smartly) searched in the dark through the cuddle blankies, couch crevices, and other places where my phone just might be. Nothing!

I rush upstairs and knowing how silly I might sound to my super sensible husband (even in a state of half-sleep the man can out reason me), I did not wake him up to see where my blessed phone could be. His reply, I just knew would be one of the following:

1) Um, did you think to use the wall phone?

2) Just use my cell phone - her number is programmed in.

3) Who cares?!? You can find your phone after work today. Just walk next door and ring her doorbell!

I had several responses to each of those, but they were all emotionally based arguments which win no points with my pragmatic sage of a husband. Of course, I will share them here with others who understand what it is to have an illogical emotional attachment. And my responses were as follows:

1) "I don't know how to use that contraption. I have never been able to figure it out. I just don't get it and it's a time waster. " No matter how bad things get, I don't want my husband knowing how much smarter he is than me. And well this would most certainly confirm that truth and lifetime ridicule would ensue.

2) "I don't know where your phone is. What if I use it and then put it in a place that gets your schedule out of order?" Oh the trouble that will befall us today if both of our days are off-kilter!

3) "Ew! How Neanderthal!" Okay, so it probably would have been more like this. "But the noise of a doorbell in the morning is almost deafening and it would be disturbing." Not very friendly; I just couldn't bring myself do it. Plus, it would have been out of Ginny's schedule.

In the end, I just used John's phone which was perched on his dresser next to his belt, pocket knife, and work watch (his own daily essentials). To ensure that my frenzied state had not raised the level of my morning-inside-voice which could wake the Slumbering One, I took the phone downstairs and made my morning call. Risking the chance of skewing John's routine, I left it on the kitchen counter sitting next to his keys, sunglasses, and bike bag (his other essentials).

The day got off to a rough start, a small hiccup really, but I was able to stay on schedule and work the entire day. I wistfully looked at my purse a few times during the workday knowing that my phone was out there - in some dark alley of a corner in my house. I had no fear that the phone had been lost outside of the house. If that had happened, I would have been absolutely frantic. How many phone numbers were stored there and nowhere else? Only God knows.

This afternoon, as we neared the house, my anxiety rose. The anticipation of being reunited with my phone was growing to an intolerable level. My precious phone: where might you be? Would I find this darling doodad sitting on the leather ottoman - its usual lost and found spot - or would my graceful gadget be in some unseemly place?

When I entered the house, I quickly tossed my purse on the counter, hung my fleece coat and began my hunt. I searched the old fashioned way - with my eyes - and came up empty. The kitchen, dining room, living room, and bedrooms were all part of this mass conspiracy to test my sanity. I returned to my purse thinking that perhaps - just perhaps - I had missed it in one of the sweeps (yes, that's plural) of my purse's pockets. Nope. Not there.

But my headset which missed it's electronic buddy reminded me of their special connection and how that item that could act as a honing device. I donned my bluetooth baby and crept around the house, like some wacky ghost hunter, intermittently pushing the button to activate voice dial. As the signal strengthened, I was able to narrow my search area and began a more involved search. Narrowed, but not ended.

I voice dialed my brother and left him a desperate message asking him to call me so that I could resume my search. I then gave up and came downstairs to my evening constitutional - AOL and Facebook - hoping to get lost in happy thoughts. Surely, the phone's daily alarm would alert me to its location in a mere 15 minutes. Hopefully all of this will end before John comes home and learns of my silly escapade.

No such luck! When the alarm went off, he was already seated in the living room waiting to do his crosswords while I started to document this whole event. Of course, this was one of those days where his discernment abilities were heightened and he noticed that I was searching for my instead of taking my pill. So, being the loving husband that he is, he picked up his phone and started dialing mine. We went up and down the stairs and both came up empty. Thanks to a stroke of genius, John thought to look in my car.

Apparently, the little one had slipped out of my purse last night and fallen to the floor of the passenger's seat. I've been so happy about my prodigal phone returning to the safety of my eyesight that I haven't allowed myself to think about it falling out in public. The horrors!

Right now, I'm rejoicing. Feeling whole again; like I'm dressed. I guess I should make a phone call...