SCREECH TO A HALT. It was not there.
Well, my heart was pounding (nay, BOOMING) through my chest as the panic set in. If it was not there, where else would it be? So I went to call Mark. Only my hubby had his phone on SILENT (not surprised, does it all the time) so I was having kabooming palpitations, in the house on my own. It was awful. I ransacked every possible corner for an hour, making myself late for other things but gave up thinking I'd mull it over today and try again tonight.
Deep down I had a nagging thought that I had absent-mindedly slung it in the bin.
So off I drove to Wallasey to sort out the debacle of my Vinyl backdrop which, in the end, meant that I had to drive all the way to Swadlincote (Derbyshire - a youthful haunt of mine, sigh) to exchange it. I took my friend Jaime along for the 4 hour return drive. And all the while, the wonder of where that bloody envelope prayed on me. I felt the panic boring into me and twisting up my guts. I was not a happy bunny.
I tried to play it down when I got back to the studio. Jaime and I almost died laughing trying to erect the heftiness of such a roll. I was stood on a rickety wooden stepladder whilst she stood aloft a £3 plastic Ikea stool (about as sturdy as a knob of butter).
Plus she was trying to lift with her non-working arm...........we were both crying with laughter but really, inside......that missing envelope was cutting me up.
I got home and made a bee line for every drawer and space where it could have been. I was totally convinced it was still on the letter shelf and I re-checked it 47836513784527651 times in hope that it would spectacularly re-appear. I searched in the dogs hidey-hole, under rare and random pieces of furniture (far from where it ought to have been) and checked pocket and bags and chasms (also known as the sofa backs where spiders and fluff live in relative comfort). For 5 entire hours I could not locate that blasted envelope. And then I began to wail like a baboon.
At the same time, another girl on my facebook list was also frantically searching for something else, too. Both of us egging each other on throughout our turmoil. And then, desperation kicked in. I googled "How to find lost things". I mean, how bloody crazy is that? Why would a 41 year old woman feel the need to type that into a search engine? Would I, some 20 years ago, have gone into my street or local library and asked the world at large such a question? My god, no. But in 2012, its seems you can ask such questions and google obliges!!
Then, hey presto! A few searches down I happened upon a wiki link to St Anthony, the patron saint of lost things. Yeah right, what a pile of doggy plop, I thought. A patron Saint of lost things. I'd seen it all. Until I read more convincing testaments to the power of the St Anthony Prayer. Basically, you have to sit and say this
St Anthony, St Anthony
Please come around.
My Envelope is lost
And needs to be found.
And like a complete and utter tool, I sat on the edge of the sofa, still weeping and praying like buggery to an inanimate object in the most desperate need of neediness since needs began being met. And I sat and I wailed and slapped myself about the head for being an utter twonk.
Well, blow me. Not 10 minutes later did an epiphany strike me and up I stood and walked to the Man Drawer in the kitchen. THE MAN DRAWER! You know, the one with batteries and keys and takeaway menus and plasterboard plugs and man bits in it. I casually opened it, lifted the menus and immediately I was met by golden light and a hark herald of angels singing "Halle-bloody-lujah".
I shit you not, it was there...... laughing at me with a look of smuggery so cheshirey, I could have set the thing on fire. But instead I screamed, woke Mark up, gave the dog a heart attack and I flung my arms opens to St Anthony and thanked him immensely.
Never under estimate the power of prayer, kids. And Im not even remotely religious.
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