Let me tell you, there is nothing that can get your heart racing before you've had that first cup of coffee like a call from your local police department.

'But how, Kitten, would you know that?' you might ponder. And 'Really, Kitten.  Nothing else gets your heart racing? Nothing???' you might also ponder, a bit more snarkily.  OK, I'll revise that to 'nothing gets your heart racing in a not fun and fully clothed way...'   And since you asked, or even if you didn't, I'm gonna tell you.  
 
The morning after Halloween while I was in the shower I missed 2 cell phone calls and had a voice mail. This was originally good news because my phone had been so quiet lately I was kinda wondering if the good folks at US Cellular were serious about that FINAL payment due date. I checked the voice mail which started with 'This is the dispatcher at the Mount Desert Police Department.'   Of course since the Large Lad is on the rock for a visit, my first thought was about his safety and/or our pre-determined alibi, but I realized that her tone was not a dire one so my second thought was 'Holy crap, did I mow down a herd of trick or treaters last night?' Through the blood pounding in my ears I heard something about a wallet, and realized I had not yet tripped over my purse at the fabulously appointed bungalow.
 
I returned the call, and learned that a very good Samaritan had found my purse in Bar Harbor Halloween afternoon and turned it in to the BHPD. Since I don't have a police record, and no longer have a landline phone (I found out it's cheaper to pay attention to where I put my cell phone than to pay $60 a month for what was essentially a cellphone location service) they could not find a phone number for me (Insert Men's Room Wall comments here) and called the Mount Desert PD, who got my number from a friend which was the second missed call.  Mount Desert PD gave me the Bar Harbor PD number, and a lovely woman there assured me she had my purse, complimented me on my taste, and I headed over to retrieve it.
Now if you've paid attention to me (this eliminates both sons) you know I am a glass half empty kinda gal. Therefore, I could not relax and appreciate my good luck at my purse having been located before I realized it was missing. Oh no.  By the time I passed the High School, I was thoroughly convinced this was really some kind of intervention, or they'd found my file of unpaid parking tickets, or my stalkee had finally taken out a restraining order.
 
I am happy to say it really was just my purse. The dispatcher was a very pleasant young lady, and complimented me a couple more times on the purse.  It is very cool.  I had to gently suggest that she never ever again say 'Oh yes, I recognize you from your driver's license photo'. That's as important as never ever asking a woman, no matter how far gone her waistline is, when she is due.  Other than that one faux pas, I just know she and I will be BFF's for evah.
 
When she commented on how panicked I must have been when I realized it (the purse, not my waistline) was gone, my adult filter randomly snapped on and my reply did not include the redflag phrase 'Alcoheimers is a cruel affliction'.  She then asked where I thought I might have lost it.  The adult filter was still humming, so the lengthy sarcastic explanation of the concept of LOST stayed in  my head. 
 
On the drive over, I had replayed my afternoon's stops in Bar Harbor, kinda to get my mind off how I would look in handcuffs. First stop was The Thirsty Whale for a little liquid calmness (show of hands, who's surprised?) while I made up my final Halloween shopping list for the  party I was catering that evening (hence the need for calmness), next stop was the neighboring  Rite-Aid for last minute costume touches and then Hannaford for last minute groceries, for which I had cash stashed elsewhere.  So when she asked again if I had any idea where it might have been found, I guessed the parking lot behind Rite-Aid.  She arched one eyebrow and said 'Yeah, behind Rite Aid.'  I thought the airquotes accompanying Rite-Aid were unnecessary.


Dramatic Reenactment
 
Once back in the safety of my chariot I checked my purse and was relieved to see all contents were still rattling about inside-- 6 lipsticks of varying shades of whatever the hell mood I'm in at the time, 2 tissues (one unused), a pen with a chewed up top, a little notebook filled with random scribbles that will support my kids' decision to put me in a home, and my sparkly golden wallet containing a wrinkled 5 dollar bill, one credit card which is only useful as a windshield scraper, an ATM receipt and my retirement fund (18 fully punched RH Foster Coffee Cards) still in their places. 

And there was something else; a sympathy card containing ten bucks, a bunch of coupons and a note expressing hope that things start looking up for me soon. 

Good Samaritans can be so judgmental.