An Open Letter to Ms. I.....A Nice New Yorker

Dear Ms. I,



Thank you for returning my cell phone to me. I sincerely appreciate your effort to contact nearly every number in my phone and notify everyone I know (and maybe haven't spoken to in like 5 years or so) as to the whereabouts of my missing phone. Not everyone would take the time to do so or be as remarkably thorough as you were or take the time to go as far as searching through the emails on my phone to find my email address to send me notice that you had found my phone in your trash pile. Due to your diligence, I had several emails waiting for me on my computer (including yours) from various friends and relatives concerned for my well being and notifying me of your contact information.



I imagine you may be wondering how my phone wound up in your trash pile to begin with. Funny story. I had a super posh hair appointment today at my relatively posh salon. Because the snow is piled like 10 feet in the air on the sides of the roads right now, I opted to take the train and walk to my appointment instead of driving for fear of finding nowhere to parallel park. (How very NY of me!) I even took advantage of the complimentary shiatsu massage between my wash & cut. I was super relaxed and carefree as I walked home, my shiney new haircut glimmering in the sun...not a care in the world....until my foot came across a slick patch of ice on the sidewalk in front of your building, causing me to become rather unstable and basically launch face first into your trash pile. While that was not my ideal landing zone of choice, I am grateful that it was there to break my fall as I'm expecting a Baby Clutz in a few months and wouldn't want to injure the little booger (we'll let him/her figure out how to do that all on his own). Nothing can break a gal's spirit faster than sitting on a sidewalk in a pile of garbage with a great haircut but torn "good jeans" and a bloody knee. In my haste to "walk it off" and not start crying in public, I hurried away from the trash, failing to notice that my cell phone had exited my purse. My knee hurt like hell in a handbasket and all I wanted to do was limp home and go to sleep!



Fast forward 30 minutes, as my son was pooping in his big boy underwear, I realized that OMG! I didn't have my phone! Between dealing with the potty training crisis and tending to my bloody knee, I decided that the only place it could be was in your trash pile. Off we go (clean underwear and all) to reclaim the phone. Fortunately you saw me rooting through the garbage and came out with my phone in hand. I would have hugged you had it not been for the poop/trashy smell all over me or the bloody pants that I was still wearing. I was a health hazard waiting to happen despite my fabulous haircut (which may not have been looking so fabulous at that point in time). But thank you for being an Honest Abe and really trying to get it back to me. You must be from the south or at least spent some time there. :)



Double hugs, double antiseptic,

L.