Tonight, BB and I should have been at a hotel in Windsor, Ont., catching up on sleep before a 10:30 a.m. appointment at a Royal Bank of Canada branch. There, we planned to make my Canadian RBC account joint, with his name on it. It was to be a quick but necessary trip, since Canadian banking rules require that such a change be done with everyone involved physically on the scene.
So this morning, as we were packing, I said, "Let's make sure we get our passports out, so we don't forget them."
His American passport, and my Canadian one, had last been seen together, packed in a small plastic bag, which was, I thought, next to my bed. BB's passport had been loose in one of my desk drawers, but we had decided that was far too risky a place to leave it. So we packed them up together.
Imagine our surprise when we found only my passport. His was nowhere to be found.
Not in the bag, not in either drawer of my bedside table. Not in his bedside table.
Not in any file in my desk. Checked thrice, by the by.
Not in any book on my bedside table, nor in any book in the bedroom bookshelves. Nor in any of my highschool yearbooks, or in his yearbooks.
Nor in any of my clothing drawers. Nor in my jewelry cases. Nor in his clothing drawers. Nor in any of my small carrying bags. Nor in the pockets of his jackets. Nor under the bed.
Nor ... anywhere. Not that we were able to find in close to three hours of searching.
So we called and canceled the bank appointment, and the hotel reservation. If we're lucky, we may get half the reservation back. (I got a low rate via a "you don't get your money back if you cancel" rule, but the nice man at the other end said he'd see what he could do about a 50 percent reimbursement. That was unexpected, since I hadn't asked for it, but very nice, if he can do it.)
On the plus side, that meant we were there when the sweet but dippy kid living above us somehow caused her washer to overload, sending the water raining down through our bedroom ceiling light and another section of the ceiling, and onto the carpet.
At least BB was able to run upstairs and pound on her door and get her to turn the damned thing off. We've contacted the unit owner (Dippy Kid is a tenant); it initially looked as if we were going to escape anything but dampness. Now it looks as if sections of ceiling may be damaged at least slightly. Yay.
I'm having a gin and tonic tonight, diet be damned. (Actually, I checked, and I'm still within my daily allowable calorie count. Yay again.)
And here, have this picture of the cast of Akira Kurosawa's immortal "Rashomon" being goofs.
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