Michael Buble

I saw an odd little pile of acorns on near the door to the office today and went to pull out my camera. Only, I didn't have my camera because I didn't have my purse. I made it all the way to the office without my purse. I didn't even know I could make it to work without my purse. For a moment, I considered the possibility that I had dropped it, left it in the car, or (after I had ruled out the other possibilities) that maybe a huge cartoonist had removed it from the panel with a giant but invisible eraser.

I had my beepy card. (# of times badge forgotten? Maybe two dozen.)
I had my hearing aids. (# of times bionic ears left behind? Maybe a hundred.)
I had my breakfast and my lunch. (I only remember to bring my lunch once every week or so.)
I even had my sweater.
I'd obviously remembered my keys, which is a tricky thing in my world. (I've sat behind the wheel of my car without the keys needed to start it easily thousands of times.)

I have never forgotten my purse on my way to work. It's got my stuff. I have no ID. No phone. No camera. No hairbrush. No lip balm. No money of any thickness or foldability. I'm riding loose in the saddle.

Well, that's that. The little doggie-pattern purse was cute, but I'm not cut out for life without a fanny pack.