I used to boogie board A LOT and loved it more than I can put into words. I wanted to learn how to surf, but I never took the time or put forth the effort to do so and quite frankly I ruled at boogie boarding. SO I used to pretend that boogie boarding and surfing were separate but equal entities on the waves and that I was just as cool as the girl from Rip Girls ’cause I was a top notch boogie boarder.
It was during my boogie boarding days that I first learned about this “[insert noun here] come in threes” thing. You know what I’m talking about. Good waves comes in threes. Hurricanes come in threes. Musketeers come in threes. There are even three very distinct chipmunks. This three thing is everywhere. Some say that good things come in threes, some say that bad things come in threes, and everyone else knows that EVERYTHING comes in threes. And by everything, I of course don’t mean EVERYTHING like my capital letters imply. I just mean- well, you know- a lot of stuff comes in threes. With me?
Also- I’m not a spacey person. I pride myself on being fairly reliable as far as not losing things. Forgetting I do all the time– for the life of me I cannot remember what needs to get done when, which is why I make lists. So many lists. But I do not trip over myself often and I certainly keep track of my stuff.
1. I visited New York with my parents this past week(me+parents= THREE.) When we were on the monorail heading from the parking garages to the terminal, my dad handed me my ticket. I vaguely remember this occurring. Monorail stops and I grab my purse, my phone, and my stuffed dog. Ticket left behind. That’s one.
2. About half-way through the trip my family and I ventured out to Brooklyn for a steak dinner at Peter Luger’s. I don’t eat steak, so for me it was more of a Ceasar Salad dinner. Now, in addition to their famous steak dinner and bacon appetizer, Peter Luger does not accept credit cards that are anything less than a Peter Luger credit card. These places exist in this world and it is always best to prepare yourself for some pretentious restaurant employee to say “I’m sorry, we don’t accept credit cards here.” I’m getting slightly off course here and I apologize. I have a debit card. My father does not. He transfers the amount needed to pay for the meal into my account and I pay with my debit card. We take a cab from Brooklyn to the apartment we’re renting in West Manhattan, and within the hour I’m sleeping. I wake up the next day jonesing for a cup of brew and a bagel so I dig around in my purse for my Vera Bradley wallet to count the cash I have and guess what also comes in threes? Losing things. My wallet is gone and the taxi driver doesn’t have it, the restaurant doesn’t have it, and the succinct woman at the 17th precinct has nothing more to say but “no wallets found, try later.” Click.
3. I’m pretty frazzled from losing my wallet. I’m very aware that I’m clearly not on my game and I’m displeased with the fact. We head back to Florida, leaving my wallet behind to fend for itself. I find myself on probably the same monorail I was on days earlier, only now I’m riding away from the terminal. Monorail stops and I grab my purse, my stuffed dog, and— “Did someone leave a blackberry?!? DID SOMEONE LEAVE A BLACKBERRY?!?!”
I try to pretend like things like this don’t really happen to someone like me. I’ve got it together– I mean I am responsible and independent and dangit I keep track of my stuff. But when you’re swept into one of these three hurricane things there’s just nothing you can do. The first one happens and there’s no way to avoid the other two from sweeping you away. The only thing you can really do is look forward to that feeling of relief after the third hit when ya know that there ain’t another one comin’ for ya.