WHERE the hayullll is my wallet?!?!

Remember how I went to Wilmington recently with my meemaw?

Well, we got back on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, and after driving back from Wilmington in her car, I was in a hurry to get my things out of her car and back into mine so I could drive back home to SC from her house without getting totally stuck in Memorial Day traffic. For the most part, it was a success. 

Until I got home and realized I didn't have my wallet.

My wallet that has all my credit cards.

My health insurance cards.

Me check book.

My cash.

My license.

My head was pounding so heard I couldn't see straight, y'all.

Visions of my precious Nine West wallet in some gas station restroom along 85 flooded my brain.

My stomach lurched.

I seriously thought I would vomit.

I am NOT good at staying calm.

"ANJ!!!! I don't have my wallet!!!!!!!!!!!!!" as I feel the chunks rising.

He's all calm and shit, "Well, where is it?"

What?!

I call my meemaw at 12:30 at night. Thankfully, she answers. I start rambling 90-miles-a-minute about my wallet and how my life is in there and how I'm going to actually die without it and some teenagers are probably booking their senior trip on it.

"Let me go check. I'll call you back."

Six hours later One minute later, phone rings. "I got it."

PRAISE THE SWEET AND HOLY LORD!!!

So, we decide that first thing Tuesday, after the Memorial Day holiday, she will go to the PO and overnight it, which comes with insurance, and she will stuff it in an inconspicuous box before she leaves the house so no one at the post office actually knows that my whole entire life a wallet is in there.

Cool. So, she did, she gives me the tracking number. It should arrive by noon on Wednesday.

..................................

Well, it didn't. So, at like 12:03, I log in to good ole usps.com, and see that it is "missent".

WTF?????? 

Further information indicates that it's been "misrouted, but not to worry, they know and they are fixing that shit" (in so many words).

I call, ready to flip my shit on somebody. I am not a calm person, remember? This is my life in my wallet and all. So, he's asking me if it's supposed to be in Such-and-such City, NC ... Umm, no, it's supposed to be in Such-and-such City, SC .... ???

(I love y'all, but some people creepy.)

So, a couple of the zip code digits have been transposed, which was the confusion. A lot of people have done that because my hometown's first several zip code digits are similar to my new one, but in a different order, of course.

Ok, cool. He explains that it'll be here the next day (Thursday) by noon. And, if it was the PO's fault for transposing the numbers on the paperwork, then my meemaw can get her money back that she paid to overnight the package.

 ..................................

Thursday, noon - no package

I log onto USPS. Shit was delivered to 1200 EXPRESS in my town, but at the wrong zip code, after it had been at my town's PO and in the correct zip code!!!!!!!

Y'all.

I was about to whoop somebody's asssssssss. 

I felt like I was gonna have a damn stroke. And with every extra minute I was on hold, I got more and more pissed.

I'm googling frantically. The damn address just does not exist.

Where in Sam Hill is my damn wallet?!?!

I can just see it. Some gum-smacking receptionist with long, curvy nails and too much lipstick opening my shit. "Omigyahhh, a wallet! Oh shit! Let's get online and buy a tannin' bed, y'all!"

I am bout half way between panic and severe anger.

Hubs comes home for lunch. Cool as a cucumber, as per usual.

Calm Cool Anj: "What's the big deal? That address is probably some sorting center or something."

Psycho Panic Me: "What is the big deal?!? Can you read?! This shit (the USPS site) clearly says, 'delivered'!!! It also says, 'Waiver of signature was exercised at time of delivery.' It also lists an address that does not even exist!! Do you know what that means? Some 15 year old is out there stealing my identity!"

So, off he goes to Google looking for this fictitious ass address, while I continue to fuuuuuume while I wait for some damn body to PICK UP THE PHONNNNNNNNE!!!!

Several minutes go by.

Calm Cool Anj: "Well, have you actually checked the mail?"

Psycho Panic Me:  "Of course not! I'm sure they'll leave it on the door step. There's no way that box will fit in there! {We have one of those metal boxes at the end of the street and everyone has individual keys for their address.} And besides, that address doesn't match anything. Our zip isn't 29907!!!"

 I watched him walk to the mailbox. My heart was pounding, Anj was walkin' in slow mo and everything ...

and then suddenly, as he was turning the key, I just knew that shit was in there.

Yep!

Sho as shit!

I guess the address was a description for the street box itself? Still no idea about the zip code. You'd think that the box's zipcode would be the same as our actual mailing address. Who gives a shit? All's well that ends well, right?

So, I sigh a HUGE sigh of relieve, thanking Jesus for getting me my wallet back, and apologizing for being a psycho.

Then, I look down at the package, embracing that thang like an infant, and realize that the street name was wrong too.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

It was similar, but a couple letters were swirled around.

Sooooooooo,

 the morals of the story are:

{1}

I am bat shit crazy as hell. I need to go back to acupuncture for my anxiety.

{2}

Jesus is the man, and despite two errors in the address, I got my wallet! BAM!

{3}

Uncle Herman was right again:

"90% of the things you worry about ain't eva gone happ'n. The other 10%, you can't do nothin' about. So, really, it ain't no point in worryin'."

True dat, Uncle Herman!