To the person who stole my stuff . . .
Sunday morning, my husband decided to take the kids out for breakfast. We went to church Saturday night, the kids had no Sunday School, so I opted to stay home and finish cleaning the house with no "Mommmmmmm!!!!" interruptions. Why he decided to take my car, I don't know. But tucked into our carport on a cold Sunday morning, it was probably more inviting. But he's not used to my car. As the little ones took off toward the restaurant, he thought he hit the "lock" button. He must have hit the window button.
So, this is to the person who decided he or she had every right to open my car door and take my pocketbook: Didn't get what you wanted, did ya? No money. No credit cards. A worthless checkbook. (Trust me, there's no money in there either, but the bank knows about it already.) My driver's license (first time I ever had a good picture). My BJs card (they know about that too). My makeup (if you use that, well, you're just gross). My basketball tickets (for that alone, you deserve a special place in hell). A couple of pens.
You probably cursed me out for not providing you with some quick cash, eh? Well, I cursed you out too. A lot. I'm still doing it. You've probably tossed my meager belongings into a trash can already. I'm still stuck with a pit in my stomach, knowing that some creep took my stuff.
I was robbed once before. A classmate at Seton Hall stole my wallet from my pocketbook. He got about $3. But he gave his girlfriend my driver's license, back when there were no photos on them. She was under age, so she took her college ID and got my name typed in over it, then used my ID to get into bars. But she wasn't exactly the sharpest tack in the box. My license had my Avon address on it. This dingbat went to a bar in Belmar, where my brother's friend was working as a bouncer. He told her she wasn't me. Ms. Vapid tried to indignantly say that yes, she was. He told her he knows me, and that she was definitely not me (she was about 5-foot-2 and blonde - the reason for all those jokes) and I'm 5-foot-7 and brunette. Although they had a cop waiting inside, the guy was worried that I may have allowed her to use my license, so he held onto it and told her to take off.
What bothered me the most wasn't my license though. Her boyfriend stole my wallet a few months after my little brother died in a car accident. I had taken all my photos of him and put them in my wallet. Those were irreplaceable.
So thanks, creeps. You got nothing. I got heartache and headaches. Thanks.
So, this is to the person who decided he or she had every right to open my car door and take my pocketbook: Didn't get what you wanted, did ya? No money. No credit cards. A worthless checkbook. (Trust me, there's no money in there either, but the bank knows about it already.) My driver's license (first time I ever had a good picture). My BJs card (they know about that too). My makeup (if you use that, well, you're just gross). My basketball tickets (for that alone, you deserve a special place in hell). A couple of pens.
You probably cursed me out for not providing you with some quick cash, eh? Well, I cursed you out too. A lot. I'm still doing it. You've probably tossed my meager belongings into a trash can already. I'm still stuck with a pit in my stomach, knowing that some creep took my stuff.
I was robbed once before. A classmate at Seton Hall stole my wallet from my pocketbook. He got about $3. But he gave his girlfriend my driver's license, back when there were no photos on them. She was under age, so she took her college ID and got my name typed in over it, then used my ID to get into bars. But she wasn't exactly the sharpest tack in the box. My license had my Avon address on it. This dingbat went to a bar in Belmar, where my brother's friend was working as a bouncer. He told her she wasn't me. Ms. Vapid tried to indignantly say that yes, she was. He told her he knows me, and that she was definitely not me (she was about 5-foot-2 and blonde - the reason for all those jokes) and I'm 5-foot-7 and brunette. Although they had a cop waiting inside, the guy was worried that I may have allowed her to use my license, so he held onto it and told her to take off.
What bothered me the most wasn't my license though. Her boyfriend stole my wallet a few months after my little brother died in a car accident. I had taken all my photos of him and put them in my wallet. Those were irreplaceable.
So thanks, creeps. You got nothing. I got heartache and headaches. Thanks.
6 Comments:
Four days after being shot and almost killed, Pope John Paul II asked those in his hospital room to "pray for the brother who shot me, whom I have sincerely forgiven."
Love Your Enemies
Forgive the thief, Clare. Pray for him or her.
I'm not as forgiving as Pope John Paul and empathize with you on this one. A couple of years ago, our home was broken into on three occasions by a neighbor. He was given probation and didn't go to jail until he commited another offense. I've wished him a big cellmate who thinks he's cute ;-)
There's a reason that guy became Pope! Honestly, the thing that bugs me is that I've worked since I was 14, winters and summers since I was 16 -- chambermaid, waitress, bartender, lifeguard, data entry clerk, even taking obits for the paper on weekends during my senior year at school. How does someone thinks it's OK to take my stuff? Sad thing is there are plenty out there who do. Sorry, my first prayer went to St. Anthony. Getting my license, my new checking account, a few other IDs and a whole lot of paperwork and police reports didn't put me in a forgiving mood over the last two days. I'll try to forgive him or her before I leave work today. Although if it took the Pope four days, maybe I have until Thursday to do any forgiving? :)
I did, I must note, pray to St. Anthony that I would find my purse around my house, although my husband remembers seeing it in my car. But I'd rather think I blundered, I hate thinking ill of my fellow man.
Thanks for the great post, Clare, and Happy Fat Tuesday.
In all fairness to Pope John Paul the Great, I think he "waited" four days only because he was unable to speak before then.
I'm very sorry for the loss of your property. I will be praying for you and your family, as well as for the thief that stole your purse.
On a somewhat related note, and as you well know, Lent begins at the stroke of midnight tonight. (Yes, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, that one day of the year when we Catholics try to freak out our non-Catholic friends and co-workers by walking around with ashes on our heads.) After much thought and prayer, I will be giving up Internet access for Lent. Accordingly, both you and blogger Margaret (among others) will be losing, albeit for 40 days, a devoted fan. I look forward to reading your Easter Sunday blog.
God bless!
We'll miss you anonymous! I won't be here when you return. By that time, I'll be posting full-time in the Jerseyshoremoms page that we're going to launch, I think this week. I'm still debating my Lenten obligation this year. My kids always want to give up things like broccoli. My daughter, 9, wants to give up reading. But she absolutely loves reading. I've gotta work with her on that.
Happy Fat Tuesday. And may you not get the priest with the biggest thumb tomorrow at church. Ash Wednesday is the day I always learn to appreciate my bangs.
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