Because I share thick, wavy hair (and fortunately, little else) with former Illinois governor/would-be Senate seat merchant/current inmate Rod Blagojevich, my wife and I put my need for a haircut on the Blago scale.
Since I had moved past early Blago and was rapidly approaching full Blago, and I’m leaving for vacation this week, I went for a cut yesterday. It was routine and, since I’m a guy who has had the same haircut since I was a teenager, quick.
About 15 minutes later, I pulled out my credit card to pay and my loyalty card for punching, and when the woman at the front desk handed them back, I reached into my right front pocket for my wallet and …
… no wallet.
I checked my pocket again to make sure it wasn’t stuck under my phone. Nope.
I checked my left front pocket in case it was stuck under my keys and work phone. Uh uh.
Let the panic commence. I checked the floor. I looked on the desk. I wondered if someone had sneaked up behind me and picked my pocket.
Then, for some reason, I reached into my back pocket. And there was the wallet.
That’s not so odd, right? Except I was coming from work, meaning I was wearing slacks. And while I will put my wallet in the back pocket of jeans, I never put it in the back pocket of my slacks. It wears a hole in the pocket.
So yes, I lost my wallet … in my pants.