Last Wednesday evening I engaged in my “favorite” weekly Wednesday night ritual of placing my trash, recycling, and yard waste bins on the curb in front of my house. Our neighborhood waste management provider picks up all of the aforementioned every Thursday morning, and because I am a huge fan of not having things that smell or attract the local wildlife hanging out on the side of my house I tend to be pretty on it when it comes to making sure my bins are out and ready for disposal. So I’m in my house, breaking down some small boxes, bagging up cans in recyclable paper bags, and preparing to place said items in my recycling bin when I instinctively began patting myself down. A brief moment of panic set in as I realized one of my biggest fears was facing me head on:
I was about to go outside without my wallet.
I quickly rushed over to the front of my house, to the mail sorting tower where I place my keys and wallet as I walk in the door after work every night, and quickly grabbed my “Bad Mother F——-” wallet from the top shelf. As I slid the hand-stitched brown leather billfold into my hip pocket I felt my anxiety rapidly subsiding. I was relieved; it was a whole body relief, the kind that allows your shoulders to lower and the tension in your neck to release. That relief however was quickly replaced with a feeling, a notion, a learned behavior that has stuck with me since I got my first state-licensed identification card.
I am deathly afraid of going outside of my house without identification.Read More