Two-and-a-half years ago, on a trip to New York City for my 40th birthday, I lost my diamond earrings.
There was no great lightning bolt of awareness about this event, no ‘I dropped my jewels off the balcony’ or some such drama. In fact, I couldn’t really pinpoint exactly when the lovely little gems went missing.
Had I in fact packed them for the big city in the first place? Did I remember seeing them in the hotel room during our stay? Had someone, god forbid, stolen them? When had I worn them last, anyway? Was this what happened at 40—instantly—one’s memory went to heck and one began absentmindedly leaving precious priceless belongings all over the United States?
Whatever the answer, I was mortified. I came home and began hunting. To no avail.
And I kind of decided not to tell Captain Daddy, well, not until he noticed, because he did purchase them for me in the first place, and would undoubtedly be unimpressed with the added expense of our already expensive trip east.
Two years passed. Every now and again, my sis said, “Did you ever find those diamond earrings?”
Last month, Chicken Little and I were wrapping Christmas gifts. She asked for a box in which to place a gift for her best friend, Julia. I grabbed a small cardboard box from the top shelf of my office closet, handed it to her, and left the room.
“Mom, there are earrings in here!” she called.
Which precise earrings she meant never crossed my mind. She stuck the box under my nose and I stared, dumbfounded, before uttering a few choice (albeit happy) words one probably shouldn’t share with one’s five year old.
Okay, so, apparently, I’d tucked those earrings into the box for safekeeping on our journey to the Big Apple. They were safe, all right. For two years in my closet. Did they ever make it to NYC? Who knows. I’m over 40—I can’t even seem to piece together what I did last week.
I gave Little 105 kisses and fed her chocolate for breakfast.
Then I told Capt. Daddy, who, indeed, had never noticed the missing diamonds. And who instantly forgave me for the omission, the temporary misplacement, and for being over 40.
Imagine what six-year-old Julia would have thought of THAT gift.
P.S. I have a friend who lost for several years a four-carat diamond ring that had belonged to her grandmother. It was in the pocket of an obscure coat she’d once worn out for New Year’s Eve. I’m not sure what the moral of these stories is, except that probably one ought not leave the house wearing anything that costs over $25.