The saga of how my bag went "missing"

   Deborah and I had just left the Mall.  We went there for dinner.  We got Subway - to go - a footlong turkey on honey-oat bread.  Debs and I were going to split it.  We like to share.  I also had a mango smoothie.  After not eating anything for 6 days, my appetite had come back with a vengeance.  My spirits were buoyed by the good Dr's report, and we were looking forward to a 5$ footlong and a movie.  A relaxing night in at the our B&B.  Outside the mall, several rickshaw drivers fought for the chance to take us home.  With our finely honed bartering skills, the big D and I negotiated a steal and set off.  Our rickshaw had just turned onto our road when acAnak! (suddenly) a motorcycle carrying three guys crashed into the side of our rickshaw and grabbed my Technicolor bag off my lap.  Now normally, savvy traveler that I am, my purse is kept towards the middle of the rickshaw.  However, at that particular moment I had been searching in my bag for something.  I can't remember now what exactly I was looking for, possibly some jolly ranchers.  Anyway, those cats grabbed my bag and sped off while Debo and I were left in the dust.  Shocked.  In disbelief.  Clinging to one another.  Screaming "NNNNOOOOO".  Our driver, a real helpful chap, stopped the rickshaw and proceeded to lecture me about how I should have put my bag in the back.  On one hand, I was annoyed that he chose that exact moment to scold me.  On the other hand, he said everything in the local dialect, and I understood him so I guess that is something to be happy about.  After arriving back at the B&B, Debbie and I dried our tears and then got to work cancelling my credit cards.  After an hour and several phone conversations later, all my cards were blocked.  At this point I would like to thank Didi, Doreen, Vivian, Raquel, and Pedro for all their help in this matter.  Having prevented these troubled youths from getting their paws on my dolla dolla bills, I finally sank my teeth into the much anticipated soft, supple Honey-Oat bread, crisp veggies, and tender turkey.  After I placed a few more phone calls, I laid my head down to get some rest, but not before Zebra and I took a page out of Rose Watts' playbook and made a list of all the things we were thankful for.  The list included the following: No one was hurt, they did not get my passport (PTL: I was holding my passport in my wee baby hands at the exact moment my purse was stolen), I can replace everything that was in the bag, my cards were cancelled before they could be used, and it was a good reminder that this world and all its baubles are transient.  

    I awoke the next morning with a fresh outlook on life, ready to face the day head-on.  With the help of one Dexter, D-Rock and I set off for the police station to file a report.  At the first station, we were ushered into the Chief Inspector's office who, after learning where the violation occurred, informed us that this matter was not in his jurisdiction.  But he did do us the kind service of arranging a police escort to the neighboring precinct.  Once there, we were led upstairs where I was directed to write the events of the previous night in a letter to the Chief Inspector.  At this point, there was much debate about what term I should use to describe the absence of my purse.  The young police officer kept insisting that the bag was missing or misplaced while Dexter and I wanted to used the word stolen.  After going several rounds on this matter, a superior officer informed me that if I used the word stolen, I would have to go through the lengthy process of submitting the report in court which could take 3 months.  Being most eager to avoid this, I conferred with my trusted advisors (read Dexter and Deputy Debs).  Dexter assured me that as my bag was actually "forever missing "this was indeed a short, truthful statement, and it was not being dishonest to say that my bag went missing.  (At this point I would like to say a few words about Uncle Dexter without whom we would have been like sheep without a shepherd.  Certainly without him we would have been lost.  Thomas likes to say that in the world of blind men, the one-eyed man is king, and today Dexter was our Cyclops.  It was great to have him there.  For as Dexter told the police officers, this is just a man's world, and it's good for the women to have an uncle around.)  Having listed out the full contents of my bag, the officer then hurried off to make the report.  A short time later, he returned and we were sent on our way complete with a report that will be helpful when filling out my personal property claims form. 

  So the saga comes to a close.  As you have cried and laughed along with me, I hope you will also take this precautionary tale to heart.  And when you next get in a rickshaw, clutch your personals tightly to your bosom and think about me, Dearest Deborah, and the missing handbag.

Good Night and Good Luck,

AW

Here is the bag in question.  This is my friend Celestial. 
Her GiGi made the bags for us.  Tear.