The Art of Losing Things

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Above: The Sass & Bide dress that started this trail of thought

I lose things all the time. All. The Time. Come around my house on a Friday night when I’m getting ready, and you’ll leave with ears ringing from a constant murmur of “Where is my…” “What happened to my…” I find that verbalizing the loss helps during the search. The problem with losing things around the house is that you know it’s bound to be there somewhere. So how can it just disappear? I swear; losing things is an art.

 Of course I’m not the only one- we all lose things on occasion. Losing things can be quite a big deal. Like losing your virginity. Funny expression that; it’s not like you accidentally misplaced it!? You won’t find that in the lost and found, honey. That shit gone.

 Recently, two good friends of mine lost their Rolexes in a certain London nightclub.  Both friends handled it with grace; tequila shots for everyone! Let’s drink and forget! The hangover the next day obviously helped fuel the panic that struck as the realisation hit: I just lost my fucking Rolex. One friend’s father could at least joke about it. For Christmas, she got a fake Rolex. He he.

 In my family, it’s a never ending, constant nagging about how much I lose things. It seems unfathomable to the rest of my family members that sometimes things just disappear. Particular favorites of mine are bankcards and cell phones (they are just so lose-able!) Not long ago, I got a big speech from one Brother about how he had never lost a cell phone.

 Me: Errmm… Yes, you have.

 Bro: When?

 Me: (almost proudly) The time I lost it….

 It also doesn’t help that I refuse to back things up (heeey, living on the edge, right!?) It’s like a spring clean, every season, for my phone book.  Goodbye, losers!

 Well, what about when it really isn’t my fault? It’s not lost if it’s stolen. Or held hostage.

 The other day, I remembered that I’d given a dress to a dry cleaner, but forgotten to pick it up. I went there to retrieve it, but was met with the standard “if it was more than three months ago, we probably gave it to charity. Come back when the Boss is here.” I went back when the Boss was there. Let me describe this Boss to you now. Mid 30’s. About three teeth that look like someone threw them into his mouth by mistake. Hair: spiked and gel’d. Clothes that belong on the wrong side of the Millennium. A confidence acquired somewhere far away from Reality.

 This Boss explained again how most likely, the dress had been given away. BUT there was one possibility… Why didn’t I give him my number, and he would call me when he’d checked with the head office? And, also, perhaps we could… go for a drink sometime?  I had a feeling this drink was a bit of a deal breaker in the quest for getting the damned dress back, so I gave a vague answer. As fate would have it, Phone Karma had operated that very same week, and I had lost my phone days before. I told him I didn’t need to leave my number: I’d come back in a couple of days and check.

 The next time I came back, he told me he had found a dress that just might be the one. He once again asked for my number so he could call me from the head office and confirm. I reluctantly put my number on the piece of paper. The Boss looked at me with a “winning” smile and said.

 I guess that means Yes.

 Ehhh… what?

 Yes. You want to go for a drink with me.

My eyes shone with mortal fear as the apocalyptic realization hit me: I will never get my dress back, if I don’t go for a drink with him. I fled the store in a panic and decided to forget all about the dress.

 That Friday evening, I had gone to a friend’s house for a birthday party. In the middle of dinner, at 10.30 pm, my phone rings and I answer. Can you guess who it was? The Boss was wondering, if I was busy and if I wanted to meet up. Honestly. And on a Friday fucking night. “No no you’re right. I can’t even find a guy I want to date on bloody Hertford Street, why not just completely swing the other way? Dental hygiene is overrated anyway! Free dry cleaning for everyone!”

 So I guess that time, I was kind of blackmailed into losing something.

 To be honest, I never worry too much about losing things. But, if losing things is an art- I would consider myself an artist. There are things that I feel OK about losing, such as material objects with no sentimental value. What people should really worry about more, is losing the things that are harder to regain. I see people lose their dignity all the time, every weekend. Losing your manners, values and courage- those things can make you lose far more important things, like friends. So while everyone else is out there losing their cool I’ll stick with just losing a phone. Or a dress.

 Golden rules of Losing Things:

If you have to explain to your parents that you lost a watch or something very valuable, always start the conversation with

“Mum/Dad, I just want you to know that I’m ok/ I’m not hurt, but…”

This will prepare them for something disastrous, while you can always refer back to the materialistic aspect of just losing a watch.

 If you lost it in a Rave, it doesn’t count.

 We will start backing shit up. And do the find iPhone thing.

 Bank fraud really does happen.

If you lose something, don’t dwell on it for too long. I’m sure you have plenty of nice things anyway! Just try not to lose your good character 🙂

3 responses

  1. Pingback: Jewellery, Fur and Champagne « Alexia Bergstrom

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