For a while, I convinced myself that I had merely been forgetful. I realized I did not have my wallet when I headed for home one night, but I just assumed I had left it behind and would find it when I returned.

That happened a little while ago when I left Hanover Little Theatre after a show (I hope you were able to make our recent run – it was a blast). Within 24 hours, acknowledgement of my absent-mindedness had turned into near panic.

Before that, I spent Friday at work expecting to find my wallet somewhere backstage. I had done a quick check of my credit cards and saw no activity. The thing had to be sitting with my props or, worst case, on the floor somewhere nearby.

But I didn’t find anything when I arrived for Friday’s show. I had looked around the house some before I headed out that afternoon, but came up empty. With no wallet in sight, I quickly texted my wife since she always does the looking for lost things better than I do.

Even she came up empty. She encouraged me to check my car, which I had already done. So I headed out in the dark and looked again. Nothing.  She then took pity on me and left money so I could go out for a bite after the show.

I started to run out of ideas, but had this nagging feeling that if I didn’t look in the tried and true places, someone would find my wallet in one of those locations, making me feel like an idiot.

So I checked the car again. And the house once more. After I once again made sure no one had used any of my cards, I even started to think about going out to the theatre even though I had looked pretty thoroughly the night before.

With no activity on any of my accounts, I had trouble coming up with what could have happened. Had the wallet escaped into some unknown nook or cranny? Did I not reach far enough under some piece of furniture? Did I lose it and merely needed to wait for it to arrive in the mail thanks to some Good Samaritan?

No, I merely needed to go to the grassy area where I had parked during the evening on Thursday because the wallet fell off of the stack of things I carried into the theatre that night. I could almost see my wallet from my car as I drove up to the spot.

I had retraced my steps throughout my sleuthing, except the step where the wallet actually slipped from my grasp. Few incidents in my life encapsulated my problems more than that. So I scooped up the wallet and bought some lottery tickets on the way home.

As expected, they didn’t come through, but at least I saw the humor in the whole situation. I wish I could say the same for my wife, who didn’t find it funny when I came downstairs last Sunday and asked if she had seen my wallet.

This time I just left it on a desk in the computer room.