My daughter’s car was broken into a few nights ago and, of course her purse (lying on the front seat) was stolen.
Canceling the credit cards, getting a new driver’s license, and all the other stuff is a real pain in the ass, but she was more heartbroken that the purse itself — the first “big ticket” item she had ever bought — was stolen. That, and a ring her boyfriend had given her. Sentimental stuff that had her in tears.
Naturally, I was consoling, but I kind of felt like that villain in the one of the James Bond movies who couldn’t feel any pain: I can’t think of one item I’d lose where I’d even think of shedding a tear.
I mean we had a fire that took the whole house down a few years ago, but once I had my laptop I was fine. Other stuff — the odd photo album, a few paintings, a decent watch — I really didn’t care.
Oh, there’s a few things I scramble for if they go missing. Nancy gave me a silver pendant of the Madonna del Ghisallo (the patron saint of cyclists), after I was t-boned by a car. I never take it off and I was frantic for a few days when it mysteriously went missing (It fell off when I was wrestling the dogs. )
But, even then, I wasn’t heartbroken and figured I’d just replace it in the next week or so.
I guess in the end, all this would make me a good candidate for witness protection: I could literally pack up in 15 minutes and be out the house with no regrets. Well, maybe I’d bring Nancy. And the dogs.