Spring Break is upon us, and I rejoice! Well, mostly--I don't have too much going on in life, and I've spent an unfortunate amount of time moping around and scrolling through Instagram. But I have been able to get some writing and crocheting done, so that's good.
Another good thing is that my Saturdays have been booked with important events. This coming Saturday is a book signing at Kaboodles in Denison, Texas, if you feel like dropping by any time between ten-ish and four-ish (it's a very relaxed affair). Last Saturday, I went to a wedding. My best friend's sister got married to a Godly man, and I'm quite happy for her.
I, at the moment, am hopelessly single. Most of the men my age at church are either taken or crazy, and all of my college classes are online. That said, I do wear a purity ring that my father gave me about four years ago. It's the only piece of jewelry that I regularly wear, and I rarely take it off for more than a few minutes.
On with the story. My mother insisted that I get my nails done for the wedding--fingers and toes. Now, my feet are extremely ticklish. What do I mean by extremely, you ask? I can tickle my own feet, which is theoretically impossible. The last time Mom touched my feet, I kicked her involuntarily and bruised her ribs. Thankfully, I was able to talk Mom out of the pedicure, but she still wanted me to get my fingernails done.
Fine. I'll capitulate.
I show up at the nail salon and take off my purity ring. By the time I get home, it's one o'clock and I haven't eaten lunch yet. And I notice that my ring is missing. It's fallen out of my pocket. So back to the nail salon I go. The Asian couple who works there are very helpful in scouring the store with me, but no luck. I check the parking lot. No luck there, either. I get back home. It's two o'clock now, and I'm hangry as well as mad at myself.
I go to the wedding, I eat pizza, I dance, and I have fun. Then, the next day, I went to the gym after church. Mom called me when I had just gotten out of the shower, telling me that she'd found my ring on the street where I usually park my car. My ring must have fallen out of my pocket as I was heading inside.
God must have been smiling on me, because I was convinced that ring was gone for good. I'm glad I've got it back. I felt weird without it.
What's something you lost and thought you'd never find again, but did find? And do you think I should go back to the salon and tell the Asian couple who works there that I did in fact find my ring? Let me know in the comments below! God bless you, dear readers, and don't forget to drop by Kaboodles this Saturday!
M. J. Piazza is a Jesus-loving, dog-walking country girl who just so happens to write books.