Fun & Famous

6X WHAT SHOULD NOT BE LOST, BUT ALWAYS IS

If my butt wasn't attached, my behind would definitely still be at home on the kitchen table. I tend towards a somewhat chaotic lifestyle (sounds fancier than being forgetful). But I learned to handle that lifestyle, my favorite people just a little less. But so be it. The will is really not lacking, because I am the mother of lists, post-its, and reminders on my phone. And I go through a checklist before I leave the place. The strange thing is, when I come home tonight, my object of interest will be lost. How? Really, even if you hit me. Panic? Oh yeah, acute and trembling panic. The butt is well secured (thank god), but there are things I am non-stop losing. And these are the worst.

1. Everything in size

And no, not those of your shoes or super nice jeans. My top three cards that I preferably do NOT want to lose: the debit card, my credit card, and my driver's license. But it's a struggle because they are tiny. So it's not even my fault. I often run out the door with just my debit card and it then disappears into the pocket of that one jacket, which I only wear to the pub or on that rainy Sunday. And I use the credit card while shopping on the couch, it just disappears into all those slots and crevices there. Last year I exchanged my glued-together pink driver's license booklet. That thing has lived a life without me, always lost. The pink card is more loyal, because it has only been missing twice since last June. An acceptable score considering the time.

“The butt is well secured (thank god), but there are things I am non-stop losing”

2. iPhone, iAdeline

I turn my bag inside out about five times a day, feel my back pocket, rummage in jacket pockets, walk back to the bathroom (yes, confession) and check the compartment in the car. That phone of mine has its favorite spots to hang out. If it's unfindable? Then it's PANIC. Look, forgetting is already a thing. But lost?! Oh, dear. Sometimes I hear those Chucky-like stories about stolen phones, which completely drives me off the rails. After twenty calls, I usually trace my precious again, still at the bottom of that bag. And that's a good thing too, because otherwise my agenda, camera, bank account, and alarm clock would also have left with the northern sun.

3. Lost in cyberspace

‘Your password must consist of forty-seven letters, twenty-two numbers, and thirteen symbols.’ Red asterisk and an even redder outlined box. ‘Your password cannot be the same as the previous password.’ (Beep beep beep beep beep). Stop it with me. You yourself have forgotten that password, due to all your one hundred seventy other passwords. But they still know it. You also get a sinister warning about what might, might not, or maybe could happen if they decipher your password. And your DigiD, even harder. The filling procedure for this password is so terrifying that you come up with a combination of what you would never think of. And then you sit there, when you have to send your tax return three minutes before twelve. I do. Yes, there is an app for that. No, I don't dare, because there is also a password on that.

“That hope is exactly the reason my neighbor also has a key.”

4. The key to success...

Is at home on the table. Don't tell anyone, but I sometimes close the door behind me hoping that the keys are in my bag. Hoping that, yes. And that hope is exactly the reason my neighbor also has a key.

5. Touch-up tools

I conceal and powder in the morning until the last bags retreat, but around lunch, the bags start to return. And sometimes, the powdering and brushing doesn't happen between coffee and my shake. Then I reach for some emergency tools in the car in the form of my favorite mascara, but three weeks ago I came up short. And where the hell that thing is? I hope for a nice trip together with that flame-red lipstick because I miss them like crazy.

6. Your bag

If your bag is lost, then it's a comprehensive kind of being lost. Points one, two, four, and five are also lost. And with a bit of bad luck, you have point three stored in point two. Do you get my point? So never let anyone hold your bag for a moment, because that might have been possible in the good old days but not anymore. And if that guy wants to dance with you, then he can dance with Louis or Coco. Oh, I know something much worse than your bag being gone, because what if your bag was designer... But mine was just still in the fitting room, hallelujah.