The Art of Losing

I am typing this as I ponder over the loss of yet another purse in the long line of knick knacks that I have lost over the years. The funny thing is I do not care about the loss anymore unless it is something totally irreplaceable. Losing stuff  does not bring me great sadness nor does it make me feel more aware about being careful the next time.  I am just plain irritated. Plain irritated at the thought of going through the tiresome chore of speaking to a machine and blocking my debit cards. “Please type your debit card number after the beep” she says. Well I wouldn’t be in the “If you lost your debit card, press 3” line if I did have my debit card, would I? And no, I haven’t written my  card number anywhere since I am afraid it might get misused by some some unscrupulous elements lurking around. Pointless, I know. The only thing I miss about my purse is the purse itself. It was a lovely purple (color of my season for the past 3 seasons). Anyway, I am paranoid enough not to keep money where it should be. So all I lost was a couple of debit cards of banks I have great dislike  for. And now, I have to prove to an overbearing humanoid voice that I am not a swindler trying to steal money from a stolen debit card. The things automated voices do to boost my confidence cannot be explained by mere words. Wish me luck.


4 thoughts on “The Art of Losing

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