Trouble Again: The Fallout

WHO KNEW THIS WOULD MORPH INTO A CHRONICLE?

Needless to say Cindy was less than pleased to see me home on Sunday afternoon looking like I had just tussled with a raptor. When I had to tell her I had lost my cell phone, my glasses, and nearly my ring (which btw was NOT a good idea...stupid in fact...why didn't I just keep my trap shut?) I felt the pursing lips and the red-headed steam culminate into a very DEEP cleansing breath as she bit her tongue as not to rant at the antics of her man/boy husband. I love you GF...it didn't work. The lecture was not quite as bad as I expected. Overshadowed mostly by my self-inflicted anger over losing my phone. The glasses can be replaced. Hell the phone can even be replaced. But the 400 numbers stored IN the phone cannot. They were gone. Washed away to cell hell by the rolling White River. Personal contacts, business contacts, important numbers...you name it, all gone. I was bitter.

I bought a used phone on Ebay for a hundred bucks that night and it was delivered mid-week while I was in San Antonio. Upon my return Friday afternoon I stopped into the Sprint store with my new used phone and had it activated. Why is the activation process such a production? Anyway, I was back in business. The power was finally back on after 5 long days of darkness and quiet.

Friday night, a storm was building to the west as the sun set. It was a spectacular site. The kids and I had been to swim and dine on fine fast Italian cuisine (read: pizza) at the neighbor's abode. When Cindy took them home for baths and bed, Truck and I decided to have a drink and watch the storm roll toward us.

I had a great idea...let's put our camp chairs IN the pool. Now we could be in the water AND sitting. What a beautiful plan, creative strategy. A sort of aquatic lounge if you will. The storm brewed, the sun disappeared, the lightning in the distance provided a solid pyrotechnic display. The water was warm and still and all was right with the world as we kicked back over a rum at our own swim-up bar, Lounge El Agua. We bantered on solving the world's problems as is typical of our conversations. If I closed my eyes, the camp chairs became soft and submersed bar stools perched next to a Jamaican pool bar. I'm thinking this would actually make a good Backyardigans episode. Once the thunder was audible, common sense took over and we quickly ended the pool bar dream for dry land.

It was probably time for me to head home (or past time as it often is) so I began gathering up my trinkets to make the trek 3 doors down. Keys, check, wallet, check, flops, shirt and towel, check check check, phone... phone... phone... OH...MY...STARS...please do not tell me I have lost my new used pho-...

Just then I spotted it. It was not lost.

It was sitting right where I had left it, like a lost puppy waiting at the doorstep, propped up nice and secure in the confines of a mesh cup holder. Which just so happened to be attached to the camp chair I had so foolishly placed in the pool. Lifeless and dripping, the tiny black electronic carcass was hoisted from the scene of its demise.

Oh it was certainly not lost...gone maybe, but not lost.

My anger was quickly overshadowed by the wrath I feared I would soon face. Oohh...something inside told me the pursing lips, red-headed steam, and deep cleansing breath may erupt with monumental force. It is safe to assume, at this stage of our chronicle, the perpetually chaotic man/boy spent the weekend on the couch, and admittedly, so deserved.

And now you know...the rest of the story. Good day.